The Sincere Fraud
by Commander
Summary: When the triplets' mother unexpectedly returns to the lives of her family, everyone is thrown for a loop. What does she want from them? Does SHE even know?
1. Prologue

(AN: Hi folks! I'm back with a multi-chaptered story—I did warn you in _Sepia Tone_ that I might write this! (evil laughter commences here)

First of all, I would like to extend huge thanks to all those who left me such nice reviews on _Sepia Tone_. I was pretty scared to publish it, because I knew it was probably contradictory to the comics—and as it turns out, it was. But you were all really nice in your reviews, liking it despite its flaws. I was very pleasantly surprised by the reception it got from the big Disney Duck fans, and so I just want to thank you all again for that.

I still haven't found out that much about the comics—trust me, Life and Times of Scrooge is on my "want to read" list, but what little money I allow myself to spend I tend to spend it on DVDs. (Is there a support group for people who compulsively buy DVDs? Hee hee.) Besides, I read somewhere that the comics take place around 1940-ish, which leads me to believe that the TV show DuckTales takes place in some sort of alternate reality, as the technology in some of the episodes is far beyond what was around in the forties. Hah, I found a loophole!

This story is a continuation of _Sepia Tone, _set about seven years afterwards. You don't need to have read _ST _to understand this one, I think. You should figure it out. ;)

All characters and names and such (so far) belong to Disney, not me. Please don't sue me, I beg of you! Then I can't buy more DVDs! This story is currently rated PG, but the rating might go up in later chapters. Haven't decided yet. (Nor have I decided on a good title. Right now it's just a Journey song that only vaguely reflects the plot. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated!)

ENOUGH WITH THE LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE ALREADY! Here's chapter one. Hope you enjoy!)

O.o.O

Funny—he _should _have been feeling anxious. But he wasn't.

True, so it _was _going to affect the rest of his life—precisely the reason that a decision such as this caused so much stress for most other people. But _she _had been right, too. It had been… jeez, more than ten years! In fact, they were close to their eleven year anniversary. "Going out" anniversary, however. Yes, she was right. After all those years, it was only logical to take the next step—marriage.

Donald Duck, having just returned from a _very _productive shopping trip, pulled out the ring box and peeked a look at the ring again. Oh yes, just look at it sparkle in the light! Donald smiled, imagining how it would look on Daisy's finger. Luckily there had been an engagement ring in her size—and it was a diamond ring too. Not too big, not outrageously expensive, but most certainly not tacky, either. Daisy would have never let him hear the end of it if it _had _been tacky.

Of course, lately, she had been getting on his case about a lot of things, anyway. Like the whole marriage deal. "Donald Duck!" she had shrieked at him just the previous night, "do you realize how long we've been _dating?"_

"Well… nearly eleven years now!" Donald had said, quickly figuring the number in his head. "The best eleven years of my life!"

"Well then, _what are you waiting for?" _Daisy had cried. "Are you just afraid of commitment, or what is it? Do you not want to share a house with me… what?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Marriage, you moron! All this time we've been together, you obviously aren't interested in anyone else, and I'm not either, and yet you haven't asked me to marry you yet!"

"But I'm hardly ever at home—"

"So? Lots of people marry people in the Navy—don't use that as an excuse!"

"Well… well, why haven't _you _asked _me?"_

"What? You're the man—you ask!"

"Who says? Lots of girls propose!"

"I know where this is going, Donald—you're just afraid of long-term commitment!"

"No, I—"

"But let me tell you, our commitment is already long-term—we might as well _be _married! Now, I think I've shown more than enough patience with you, but if you don't want to commit, then you can just kiss our relationship good-bye!"

After that ugly confrontation, Donald did some serious soul-searching. He certainly wasn't going to do just anything Daisy told him—he had done that in the past, but often with disastrous consequences. But he had to admit—Daisy was right. Why _weren't _they married? They had, after all, been with each other for eleven years now. Definitely enough of a trial period—heck, half of the population _divorced _sooner than that! And Donald really did love her, and it wasn't hard to imagine spending the rest of his life with her. He _wanted _to.

The only thing that had prevented him from asking her earlier, it seemed, was just that Donald tended to focus most of his attention on the present—here and now. Talking about marriage was something that turned his concentration to something far-off, in the distance, that didn't affect him at that very moment. The NOW affected him far more than the LATER, and thus was usually really the only thing that crossed his mind.

But not anymore. Daisy was right, as right as she'd ever been. Eleven years was long enough. He was thirty-six years old; he was definitely old enough to settle down, maybe start a family… yes, most definitely.

_Ding-dong!_

Donald jumped up and yelped—God damn that doorbell! Who could it be? He quickly grabbed the ring before making his way to the door, hiding it in his pocket. If it was Daisy, and she came over to apologize for yelling at him last night, Donald would soothe her, tell her it was alright, and then, as if to prove his forgiveness, pop out the ring and propose! Hollywood couldn't have done it better!

He opened the door—and his jaw dropped. It was a female duck, but it wasn't Daisy.

"God, Donald, you haven't changed a bit." The lady duck grabbed his lower bill and clapped his beak shut. "Stop gaping and let me in!"

"_Della?" _Donald sputtered out. "You—your sentence can't be over yet! You had fifteen years, and it's only been—"

"Eleven, I know. Good behavior. I'm on parole." Della pushed Donald to the side as only a sister can to her brother and looked around. "Well, your house certainly hasn't changed that much since I last saw it. Nor have you. You know," she said, raising an eyebrow at him, "I wasn't in isolation. I could have had visitors. But I never did. However, I'll just assume that was ignorance on your part—"

"I didn't _want _to see you!" Donald blurted out.

"Don't you even _start _to treat me like this!" Della glared at Donald, but her voice mellowed, and she looked at him apologetically. "Really. I told you, I'm on parole—for good behavior. I'm not the duck I was, Donald. I realize now that I was a moron, that I did some really stupid things. I want to make amends; I want to make up for the mistakes I made. Which means seeking out the family that, apparently, pretended that I didn't even exist. Where are my sons?"

"I told you," cried Donald, "I didn't want to see you, and I still don't, and I don't want you to ruin the triplets' lives—"

"I'm their _mother!" _shrieked Della. "I have a _right _to see them! Now tell me, where are they? I suppose they're in school right now—"

"I would assume that too," said Donald, shrugging.

"What, you don't know where they are? What kind of guardian are you? And here you are talking about me being a bad influence—"

"I'm not their guardian!" cried Donald. "I only had them for a year!"

There was a pained silence.

"_What did you do with them?" _Della suddenly shrieked, grabbing a stunned Donald by the collar. "You didn't put them in an orphanage, did you, you irresponsible—"

"For God's sake, I didn't!" choked out Donald. "I couldn't afford to take care of them—I got a promotion—they're with Uncle Scrooge!"

Della dropped Donald. "Oh." She blinked. "Uncle Scrooge? He actually agreed to take them in?"

"He knew he had to," said Donald, rubbing his neck and shooting a fiery glare at Della. "He understands responsibility, unlike you."

"I understand it _now," _snapped Della. "You just can't get it through your head that I've changed, can you, Don-Don?"

"You're not _acting _any different," Donald spat out. "And don't call me Don-Don… _Dumbella."_

"I hate you," growled Della. She picked up her bag, obviously carrying all her possessions in the world, and headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" yelled Donald.

"I'm going to Uncle Scrooge's, duh!" cried Della. "I'm going to see my sons!"

"If you think I was thrilled to see you, Uncle Scrooge will be worse, you know!"

"Whatever, I don't care. He knows I have rights. So do you, otherwise you'd be trying to stop me."

"I'll stop you, _watch me!" _Donald scrambled to his feet and ran towards his sister, only to face a slammed door.

Cursing under his breath, Donald kicked the leg of a chair. Just when life was looking like it was going up, Della had to come and—He didn't believe her for a second. She said she changed, but she still acted like the same stubborn, whiny, shallow Della he had always known. Donald reached into his pocket, making sure that the ring was still there—he wouldn't have held it above Della to snitch it from him.

_Why does she have to ruin everything? _Donald thought to himself, making his way to the phone. Uncle Scrooge deserved to be warned that the irritating menace was about to crash his life, too.


	2. Growing Pains

(AN: It's another chapter! Go me! …Uh, not much else to say here, surprisingly… so what are you waiting for? Read on!)

O.o.O

It had happened!

Not just to any duck, but to… _her!_

Shelby Woodrow Anatinae was the most popular duck in school, the best looking, the one with the best sense of humor, everything. Half of the girls in school—ducks or otherwise—had massive crushes on him.

And he had asked Webbigail Vanderquack out!

It was prestige enough that Webby was to be dating an eighth grader. A sixth grader dating an eighth grader! Oh, she'd be popular now for sure! …Not that she necessarily wanted to be a popular snob or anything like that. She just felt… a bit awkward in a new school. Back in elementary school, her cousins had hung with her, but they were two years older than her, and while Webby had made a friend during those last two elementary school years, that friend moved to St. Canard, which wasn't really all that far, but still… no best friend, and she was entering middle school. Webby did have her cousins, but they were fourteen years old now… and while they treated her civilly in the hallways (Dewey and Louie at least; Huey was another matter entirely), it was a bit embarrassing to be seen with one's girly "kid cousin".

Speaking of her cousins…

"You look like you just won the lottery," said Huey, leaning against the side of the school building. As usual when Huey addressed Webby anywhere at school or surrounded by his friends, his voice was on the verge of being mocking, but only just, so that Webby never knew if he was being malicious or not, and she didn't have the guts to ask him. "What are you grinning about?"

"Shelby Anatinae just asked me out!" squealed Webby, clasping her wings together in delight.

"Shelby?" Huey made a face. "Did you say yes?"

"Of course I did! What girl wouldn't want to go out with—"

"Webby, you're only twelve years old!" cried Huey. "If you _must _date, date someone… I don't know, someone who isn't Mr. Universe!"

"You're only jealous," snapped Webby. "Shelby's way smarter, nicer, and funnier than you ever could be!"

Instead of getting mad at this statement, Huey just shrugged and leaned back against the wall. "Don't say I didn't warn you. _I _think you're just dating him because you're that desperate to be popular. And that's the same reason he asked you."

"That makes no sense," snapped Webby. "I'm not at all popular."

"Like hell you're not!" cried Huey. "You hang out with that annoying sixth grade clique that's always giggling at the bottom of the stairs. I've seen you. And those girls _want _you in their circle because you're rich—have they invited you to hang out with them outside of school yet?"

"Not yet, but—"

"Well they will. And they'll expect you to take them to outrageous places and pay for all of them."

"But I don't even have enough money to pay for a meal by myself if I wanted one—you know that!"

"I know that and you know that—but they don't! Trust me, my brothers and I have been putting up with people like them for years now. They know that we're those 'oh-so-pampered'"—Huey mockingly made quotes with his fingers "—nephews of Scrooge McDuck, and automatically assume that we're going to take our friends to amusement parks every day and gladly pay for them! Those girls ignored you when you first came here, you were too girly for them—no offense—but now that they know you're our cousin… you'd just better watch your back."

Despite his request to the contrary, Webby _did _take offense at Huey's advice. "Why do you have to be such a jerk?" she snapped.

"A jerk? I'm trying to warn you! People are going to take advantage of you, and I know you—you'll bend over backwards to make your so-called 'friends' like you!"

Webby growled and shook with anger, but restrained herself from hitting her cousin. Even if they weren't on school grounds, Huey was rather tall for his age—not necessarily heavily-set, but it would be no problem for him to overpower Webby, who although was at the age where girls are often larger than boys and had grown three inches over the summer, was still a petite little thing—and probably always would be.

"Hey Huey, hey Webby." Louie, wearing a conservative sweater in his signature green, had exited the building after a long day of school and met his brother and cousin at their daily meeting place where they met before walking home.

"Took you long enough to show up," muttered Huey. In his baggy red T-shirt and jeans that probably could have used a belt, Huey looked like the polar opposite of Louie, even though they were two of a set of identical triplets. "Where's Dewey? The bell ran nearly ten minutes ago!"

"I think he was going to ask Mr. Weber for some help on his science project," said Louie.

"He doesn't need any help!" Huey cried, playfully exasperated. "He gets straight A's!"

"But not straight A plusses," reminded Louie.

Huey grinned. "That's right. The best is not good enough for our brother!"

"Here he comes," said Webby, pointing at the door, and sure enough, Dewey, clad in a blue button-down shirt, was half-jogging, half-running his way to his brothers and cousin.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized, "I was—"

"Yeah, we know, nerd-boy," said Huey, giving his brother a playful punch.

"All you need are the glasses!" said Louie, smiling his famous well-meaning smile.

"Yeah, and Huey needs a tattoo, and you could be his tattoo artist, Louie!" said Dewey with a good-natured comeback.

As usual, Huey, Dewey, and Louie didn't go out of their way to include Webby in their conversations, but Webby had grown used to it and had ceased to mind—in fact, she found enjoyment as her role as the interested third-party onlooker to her cousins' antics. They technically weren't her cousins, but to Webby they were far more than that—they were like her brothers, her constant companions during her elementary school years, sorely-needed close friends as she watched her grandmother slowly slip away.

Webby's grandmother, the triplets' former nanny, Mrs. Beakley, had always been a bit scatter-brained, which made the identification of her Alzheimer's even more difficult… and more painful. Webby hated it. So much, in fact, that she didn't even want to be around her grandmother anymore… not like her grandmother remembered where she had been five minutes ago anyway. Soon she began needing constant care.

There were two options, Uncle Scrooge had told Webby when it got to that point. One, put Mrs. Beakley in a nursing home, where she would be away from Webby; or two (since Scrooge could, of course, afford it—what mattered here was that he was _willing _to pay for it), hire someone to take care of her at the mansion.

Webby chose option one. She recognized the fact that she was trying to make her problems go away by simply ignoring them, by eliminating all traces of them from her home life—but she didn't care—she didn't _want _to face this right now. Besides, Granny would be happier amongst other people her age, playing bingo and asking each other what their names were again.

Of course, there was just one small problem with this—Webby's grandmother was her only living relative, and putting her in a nursing home left Webby without a guardian. Webby had flipped when realizing that getting rid of (oh, she hated that term—it was probably true, but it made her feel so guilty!) her grandma wasn't going to be that easy… for about a day. Then Uncle Scrooge went to the courts, explained the situation and Webby's decision, and bing badda boom, Webby became Scrooge McDuck's legal ward. She didn't have to be put in foster care, she didn't have to uproot—she could continue living where she had been since she was three years old.

Thank God for Uncle Scrooge's influence!

"…you're not going to _believe _what Webby just committed to."

Webby was shaken out of her thoughts when she heard Huey say her name. "What's that?" Dewey and Louie asked, Louie looking to Huey for an explanation, while Dewey looked to Webby.

"She has a date with Shelby Anatinae," said Huey, sounding as if he had just swallowed a gulp of castor oil.

"Shelby?" clarified Dewey, sounding more curious than shocked.

"He's nice enough," shrugged Louie.

"Yeah, as he's reaching into your pocket and taking your money," muttered Huey.

"Come on, Huey, not everyone's out to rob us!" cried Louie.

"Considering how popular Shelby is, he's actually not half bad," said Dewey. "Did you ask him, Webby, or did he ask you?"

"He asked me, of course," said Webby. "You think I'd have the courage to go and ask out someone like _him? _I nearly fainted when he just walked up to me!"

"You must have really hit the floor when he asked you," grinned Louie.

Dewey, however, looked a bit concerned. "I'm happy for you, Webby… but don't you think you're a little young to be dating?"

"No," said Webby defiantly. "Lots of sixth graders date."

"Lots of sixth graders are idiots, but you don't want that, do you?" Huey sneered.

"_You're _an idiot," snapped Webby. She turned away from him and quickened her pace, feeling shameful of her remark. Huey, in fact, wasn't an idiot—he was just as bright as Louie, and might even approach the near genius level of Dewey, though he didn't know it (or care to share it with others if he did). But of the triplets, Huey became the "problem child"—which, again, wasn't quite an apt description. Despite his cutting sarcasm and suspicious nature, Huey could be very friendly, and was the most athletic of the three, excelling in basketball and track. Still, it was Huey who still had a great fondness for practical jokes, many harmless, some not so much. He was antsy and easily distracted and often bored by the mundane routine of school.

Dewey made up for Huey's less than stellar academic performance. School was to Dewey what sports were to Huey—an outlet, a hobby from which he could shine and give his all. Dewey was one of those people who had a constant curiosity and thirst for knowledge—the kind who would read ahead in his textbooks for fun. His brothers often called him a nerd, and Dewey would play along, but he really didn't fit the "nerd" mold. He didn't look particularly like a nerd—he dressed normally and behaved normally—and had a circle of friends other than his family (which was more than could be said for Webby at this point). And Dewey was prone to bouts of brooding, during which not even his books could cheer him up.

Louie, too, was known to brood, although not in the way Dewey did. He would ask bigger questions, questions about meaning in life, happiness, what it meant to be free, and come up with more optimistic answers than Dewey would. Optimism—the trait most often associated with Louie, known by all as "the nice one", rounding off "the rebel" and "the gifted kid". Louie seemed to be eternally caught between his brothers—his grades were better than Huey's, worse than Dewey's. His physical abilities were better than Dewey's, worse than Huey's. And so on. Louie, therefore, turned his attentions to his artwork. Without having taken an art lesson in his life besides in elementary school, Louie discovered that he had an above-average gift of caricature. He had just started taking art classes this year, hoping to prove that he deserved his own identity, as Huey and Dewey did.

And then… there was Webby. Their annoying kid cousin who was more like an annoying kid sister that they tried to keep away from at school. Despite growing up with three boys (or perhaps because of it), Webby had always been unusually feminine, dreaming of princesses and ponies and knights in shining armor. Even at the age of twelve, nearly a teenager, Webby still loved fairy tales, and clung to her idealized stories as an escape from the gossipy kids at school, whose friendship ironically enough Webby so desperately yearned for.

"I think you're generalizing, Huey," said Louie. "I mean, Webby's a nice girl. I don't think everyone who expresses interest in her is out to get her. There's probably tons of guys who genuinely like her. Give Shelby a chance, at least."

"Sound advice!" said Dewey. Huey rolled his eyes in a good-natured way while Webby, who had reached the gate to their uncle's quaint, old-fashioned mansion, opened the not-so old-fashioned keypad and hit in the password, opening the gates.

O.o.O

"…and so, with careful investing in banks you trust, you can quickly double your earnings by interest alone!"

"Ha! I perfected _those _tactics before you were even born, laddie!" said Scrooge, punctuating his laugh by punching the power button his remote. The TV flickered off.

"There's got to be something more constrictive I can do with my day off," he murmured to himself, although sinking down a bit further in his easy chair. Oh, but why not? A day off was good for the soul, to recharge your batteries and all. Perhaps he was going soft in his old age, but soft or not, there was no denying the old age, the fact that he simply couldn't do the things he did with the same energy that he did when he was younger.

That logic wasn't enough to calm his nerves, however, always on edge thanks to his type A personality. It was a combination of details that allowed Scrooge to enjoy a moment of peace and relaxation. As the investing program he had been watching reminded him, he was definitely making much more than double his earnings by his interest. And his worries of the past of finding someone to take over for him once he was gone—becoming more and more important each day as Scrooge continued to age—were also done away with. Dewey was a prime candidate for that task, a task which Scrooge intended to begin training him in very soon. The lad was gifted in every subject in school, but he had an especially fine head for figures and mathematics. Plus, Scrooge could rest easy knowing that the fortune he took a lifetime to build would remain in family hands.

Scrooge's butler, Duckworth, slipped his head into the doorway. "Telephone for you, sir. It's your nephew Donald."

Scrooge smacked his mouth in annoyance. "What does he want know, I wonder?" Reaching for his cane (merely an ornament of decoration before, but Scrooge was now finding it extremely helpful and almost necessary to move around with these days), Scrooge stood up and took the phone from Duckworth.

"Yes, Nephew, what do you want?" asked Scrooge in a business like tone.

His business like tone was quickly dropped, however.

"_**WHAT?" **_Scrooge's eyes bulged to at least twice their normal size and he nearly dropped the phone. "You're not pulling me leg, are you? …Oh, blow me bagpipes!" Scrooge, completely taken aback, had to grab onto the arm of his chair for support. "But how could she be… oh… 'good behavior' my foot! We'll just see about that… She's coming _**here?" **_This time Scrooge _did _drop the phone. Scrooge hurriedly picked it up. "Well, I certainly cannae have her seeing—"

"We're home, Uncle Scrooge!" Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby called out in unison.

"—the boys and they're here!" Scrooge finished in panic. "Thanks for warning me Donald, got to go, bye!" Slamming the phone down, Scrooge rushed into the main foyer, where the four children were setting down their backpacks.

"Hey Uncle Scrooge, Webby's got a date!" said Huey, with a malicious "nyah-nyah-nyah-I'm-telling" grin.

"That's nice, that's nice," said Scrooge distractedly. "Listen, kids, I'm expecting a very important visitor and need you to go up to your rooms—all day—I'll have supper brought up to you—"

"But—" Webby began.

"We're not little kids, we won't get in the way!" Dewey protested.

"I said TO YOUR ROOMS!" Scrooge thundered.

Without another word, but with suspicious glances amongst themselves, the children meekly obeyed.

O.o.O

(AN: Whee, that was fun! LOTS of symbolism and personal notes for this one, so I won't bother telling you them. Except for one, I suppose: Shelby's last name, Anatinae, is the name of the subfamily that ducks belong to. (I'm such a nerd!)

See you all next chapter!)


	3. She's Baaaaack

(AN: I'm sorry for such a long wait! I must admit that finals, two vacations, and spending time with friends and family now that I'm home for the summer got the best of me. I hope I've still got the writing groove… it's been ages since I've written anything besides angsty diary entries. ;) Let's find out, huh? Here's chapter three!)

O.o.O

As it turned out, Scrooge was just in time. Mere seconds after he heard a bedroom door slam, the buzz of the electronic keypad at the gate rang throughout the house.

"Shall I see who that is, sir?" Duckworth asked.

"No, Duckworth, I'll get it… I think I know who that is, and trust me, you wouldn't be able to handle her." With a sigh, Scrooge picked up his cane and made his way to the door, rehearsing in his mind what he would say to Della… although giving how unpredictable the girl—wait, she was a woman now—always was, she would probably catch him off-guard anyway.

He'd better get the first word in.

He opened the front door, and opened his mouth to shout out a retort to his niece, but Della beat him to it. "Uncle Scrooge!" she called out, leaning as far in the gate as she could. "How's my favorite uncle?"

"Favorite uncle?" Scrooge repeated. "Funny how you never listened to your favorite uncle's advice! …I mean—" Scrooge mentally kicked himself. He had already let Della take the upper hand in their conversation.

"That's because I was a moron," said Della. "But I'm out on parole for good behavior—"

"I know, I know. Donald told me."

"He did?" Della bit her lip, and Scrooge knew exactly what she was thinking—that Donald just may have swayed his already sour opinion of her further into the gutter. She quickly shrugged it off, however. "Well, you know why I'm out of jail, and… I want to make amends. I'm not asking for you to forgive what I've done—"

"You're almost sounding reasonable," snapped Scrooge.

"Stop interrupting me!" screeched Della. "I mean—sorry. I'm sorry I yelled at you, Uncle Scrooge."

Scrooge didn't know what to say to that. She did almost look sorry. But again, with Della, it was hard to know for sure.

"I don't plan on bothering you at all after this," Della continued. "I'm going to get a job and start my life over again, and if you don't want to ever see me again, I'm fine with that. I just… I just want to see my sons again. And Donald told me they were here."

Scrooge felt himself growing both sympathetic and angry at his niece—angry because she actually _was _tugging at his heartstrings. And again, he didn't know if he could trust her or not. She looked as sincere as he'd ever seen her, and yet he knew far too well Della's ability to bend people to her will. Still, perhaps those years in jail _had _taught her something…

He pushed a button on the keypad, opening the gate.

"Why don't we continue this conversation inside?"

O.o.O

"There's something really fishy about this," Huey muttered. He, Dewey, Louie, and Webby had all congregated in his room to discuss their uncle's strange actions.

"Not necessarily," pointed out Louie. "I mean, if I had an important visitor coming, I wouldn't want four teenagers hanging around."

"Does he really think that we're that immature?" Dewey scoffed. "We're not going to be running around the house throwing temper tantrums. We know how to behave!"

"It's not so much the fact that he sent us up here," said Webby thoughtfully, "it's more… the _way _he said it. Like…"

"Like he was expecting us to argue with him," Huey finished.

"Like he was trying to stop us from asking who it was," said Dewey.

"That's a good point, just who _is _this important visitor anyway?" Huey demanded. "It seemed like it was someone who really put Uncle Scrooge ill at ease. I mean, he didn't even notice when we said that Webby's got a date!"

"Yeah, you'd think he'd have heard that," Louie remarked.

"Maybe someone called him and threatened to come and kill him?" Huey asked.

"Huey!" Webby gasped.

"Hey, it's possible!"

"I doubt it," said Dewey. "He probably would have told us if it had been that."

"And he would have sent us somewhere safer than our rooms, like that bomb shelter that he has in the basement," added Louie.

"Uncle Scrooge has a bomb shelter?" Huey asked.

"Uncle Scrooge has _everything," _Louie muttered.

"I don't think it's something threatening," said Dewey. "Uncle Scrooge wouldn't have acted angry at us if it had been. Maybe… maybe he's funding some porn company and doesn't want us to know—"

"Yeah right!" Huey, Louie, and Webby all said at once.

"Yeah, that does seem unlikely for Uncle Scrooge," Dewey conceded.

"But what could it be?" Huey asked. "There just aren't any other possibilities!"

Silence.

"Maybe we should just ask him tomorrow," Webby suggested.

Huey scoffed. "You moron. If he's not going to tell us now, he won't tell us tomorrow either."

"Don't call me a moron!" cried Webby.

"Why don't we just find out now?" Dewey suddenly asked.

Huey stared at his brother. "Oh sure, just amble on down the stairs—'Hey, Uncle Scrooge, we were wondering just why you sent us up here in that way—what's going on?' 'Ah, of course, laddies! I'd be more than happy to—'"

"I didn't mean like _that, _you imbecilic amoeba. I meant someone should sneak down and spy on him!"

"Ohhhhh…" Huey breathed. "Good plan, genius boy." With a malicious smirk, he turned to his other brother. "Louie, you're just the one to do it. You're the quietest of us, you blend in the best, and you're the one Uncle Scrooge is the least likely to get mad at if you get caught."

"But—" Louie cried. "Why me? I mean… why not Webby? Uncle Scrooge is never mad at Webby!"

"We can't send a girl to do a man's job," Huey snapped.

"Hey!" cried Webby, fuming at her cousin's constant belittling.

"Besides, Webby would probably get caught," continued Huey, ignoring Webby. "She'd trip on a stair, break a fingernail and start screaming—"

"Huey, you're so… so… _sexist!"_ Webby fumed, whispering out the last word, as if she were afraid to say it.

"Oh, come on. You wouldn't want to go and spy on Uncle Scrooge anyway," Huey said, glaring at her.

"Well… I… that's no excuse to make fun of me," Webby faltered.

"I knew it," said Huey. "So, Louie, that leaves you—"

"Why not you or Dewey?" Louie pleaded.

"Because you're right for the job. Right, Dewey?"

Dewey shrugged. "I can't argue with you there…"

"Dewey!" Louie sounded exasperated. "Back me up here!"

"Come on, I'm not asking you to go and put your life at risk or anything!" said Huey, leading his green-clad brother to the door. "All you need to do is whip downstairs, see who Uncle Scrooge's guest is, if he even has one, then come back up here and tell us! It's easy as pie and you'll be done before you know it!"

"But—"

"Happy trails!"

With that, Huey pushed Louie outside and quickly closed the door.

O.o.O

Scrooge and Della were now sitting in the parlor, Scrooge resting his cane against the arm of his chair and Della shuffling her feet nervously, not looking at her uncle. The silence was painful.

Scrooge, after situating himself in his chair, finally broke the silence. "Now, before I say anything else, I don't want you to think that I'm going to give you anything your little heart desires—"

"I know that," said Della quickly. "I don't expect you to do anything for me, Uncle Scrooge. I'm just here to see my sons, then I'll go and find myself a job. Like I said, if you want me out of your life, I'll certainly—"

"Stop right there." Scrooge held up a hand, silencing Della. "Listen to yourself, lassie… you expect to find a job?"

"Well… I'm going to try," Della said, balking.

"You've been in jail for the past eleven years! Where do ye expect to actually _find _someone who will hire you?"

"I can work at a fast food restaurant," said Della with a shrug. "They'll hire just about anybody—"

"For minimum wage," Scrooge finished. "And Della, you simply cannae live off of minimum wage. It's just not enough!"

"Easy for you to say," muttered Della. "A five figure salary wouldn't be enough for you."

Scrooge stiffened with annoyance. "For once in your life, would you listen to what I'm saying? You'll have to pay taxes, the electric bill, the water bill, gas money—and gas is _very _expensive nowadays!—plus money for groceries, your personal items, I'm sure you'll want a television—"

Unbeknownst to both of them, Louie was curling his head through the door, trying to see who Scrooge's oh-so-important guest was.

"What do expect me to do?" Della cried, sounding completely desperate. "Sit on the streets and beg for money from pedestrians? It's either that or nothing! I don't have a choice! And I already told you that I'm not going to accept any charity from you—"

Louie struggled to see the face of the woman in the chair.

"And I won't give you any charity. However, I will hire you."

Louie cautiously took a step inside the parlor.

"Hire me?"

"You won't find a job anywhere else. And I believe we're in need of a new janitor around my money bin."

"But that's certainly minimum wage, and you just said—"

"I pay my employees at least twice minimum wage, even beginning ones."

"But you probably don't hire people with a criminal record like mine."

"No, I don't. But you need a chance somewhere, and I'm the only one who will give you one."

"I… I… But I told you, I'm not going to accept any hospitality from you… I _can't…_ especially since I've been a total bitch to you and everyone else for most of my life…"

"Aye, ye certainly have," said Scrooge sternly. "But you've been my niece for longer than that. Perhaps I've gone soft, but if I cannae give you a second chance, then I can't give anyone a second chance. Although in your case, it's more like a third chance, possibly a fourth…"

Louie finally realized who Scrooge's guest was, and everything clicked in his mind. Everything, including the realization that he should probably just walk away right then and there and report what he had seen to his brothers and cousin. But the opportunity to meet his mother was simply too good to walk away from.

He decided to play it innocently enough. "Uncle Scrooge, I think I might have left my homework down here," he said, stepping into the room as if he had just entered it.

Scrooge jolted from his seat. _"Louie!" _he cried.

Della gasped. "Louie…"

Louie didn't have to feign being startled. For the first time he could see his mother's face, clear and unobstructed. He gazed wonderingly at the woman who had given him life, her loving and almost apologetic gaze back at him…

"Mom?" he finally squeaked out.

Della bolted from her chair, and before Louie could blink, his mother had him wrapped in a tight hug… and Louie was hugging her back.

"Oh my God, Louie, look how much you've grown! Just look at you—you're as tall as me! Do you remember me?"

"A little bit," Louie admitted.

"Louie…" Scrooge sounded exasperated. "I thought I told you to stay in your room!"

"Huey and Dewey made me come out and spy!" protested Louie. "It wasn't my idea! Besides…" He gave his uncle a disapproving look. "How long were you going to keep from us that our mother was back?"

"Uncle Scrooge, were you really going to…" Della growled dangerously.

"Aye, I was, and can you blame me?" Scrooge cried out to Della angrily. "After what you've done in the past—"

"Okay, "okay," said Della. "I don't blame you for being cautious… but I tell you, I'm changed—"

"We'll just wait and see about that—" snapped Scrooge.

"Of course I have! They wouldn't have let me out of jail for just anything, you know!"

"Well…" Scrooge faltered, not having a reply to that.

Louie felt himself growing angry. "Huey and Dewey are probably wondering what's taking me so long," he said, trying to keep his voice from rising. Surprisingly, Della was more forgiving of Scrooge's attempt to bar the triplets from their mother than Louie was. Sure… so Della was a con. But she also had a point—if she was out of prison, then she most certainly had reformed, enough to let her back into society! And besides… didn't he have a right to meet the woman who gave birth to him?

"Call them down here," said Della with a smile.

"Hey Huey and Dewey, come down here and prepare to be shocked! Webby, you can come too, I guess…"

Seconds later, Huey, Dewey, and Webby were hanging over the railing, looking down at Louie, Della, and a rather agitated looking Scrooge.

"Okay, what the frack is going on down here?" demanded Huey. "Who is this lady, anyway?"

"I'm your _mother!"_ said Della, giving the boys a glowing smile.

For once, Huey was speechless. He turned and gaped at an equally speechless Dewey, while Webby, who was herself a bit shocked, gave Della a questioning glance.

"Oh, come here, boys!" cried Della, bounding up the stairs towards them. Dewey took a cautious step forward while Huey took a cautious step back. It didn't make any difference—soon Della was hugging them tightly.

"Just look at you boys, just look at how much you've grown! Uncle Scrooge has taken good care of you… of all three of you!" She pulled back and looked at Huey and Dewey. "Now, which one of you is which? I could never tell even when you were toddlers, and you've changed so much since then…"

"I'm Dewey," said Huey, with the slightest of smirks.

"I'm Huey," said Dewey, with a smile that could have looked simply happy, given the occasion.

Louie considered calling his brothers out but then decided against it.

"I have a lot to tell you boys… all three of you. Maybe we could go out, get some ice cream, have a chat?" Della said to her sons.

Still down at the bottom of the stairs, Louie said, "That sounds fine to me."

"And I do like ice cream, especially on warm days like these," Dewey (the real Dewey) said.

"Sounds great!" Huey (the real Huey) said, sliding down the railing. Dewey was not far behind.

"What time do you want them back, Uncle Scrooge?" asked Della, bounding down the staircase almost as fast as she had gone up.

Scrooge, taken aback by Della's bluntness, stammered. "I—well—Della, I don't think—"

"We'll have her bring us back before suppertime, Uncle Scrooge," Huey said.

"Yeah, and if we're not back by 9:00 tonight, call the cops," added Dewey.

"Don't worry, I won't spoil their appetite," said Della, leading her sons out the door. "I'll have them back well before supper time."

The door slammed shut, and they were gone.

Webby timidly crept down the stairs and stood next to Scrooge, who was still in a frozen position and looking quite pale. "Are you alright, Uncle Scrooge?" Webby asked.

"Mark me words, Webby, that woman is going to turn everything upside down," Scrooge finally growled.

The two of them continued to stare at the door, as if hoping that the triplets would immediately return.

Suddenly Scrooge's eyes doubled in size.

"Did Huey say you were _dating?"_

O.o.O

(AN: Bwah ha ha. I'm still not exactly sure how I'm going to write Della—is she going to be genuine, a fraud, or what? I'm as much in the dark as you guys are about her! (Wow, I really need to plan these stories better before typing them…) Again, I'm sorry for such a long wait. It took me a long time to actually TRY to sit down and type this, and recently my two-year-old twin nieces have been staying at my house a lot. And as you may imagine, when they're around, I don't get much done. (Scratch that—I don't get ANYTHING done.)

I do hope that the next chapter will come soon! I think I've gained my inspiration back for this story, so hopefully updates will be quicker! Thanks again for reading, and see you at chapter four!)


	4. Conversations Over Ice Cream

(AN: Wow, I'm sorry for such a long wait. When did I last update this, anyway? I really wanted to update this sooner, and I thought that when I started working I'd get hit with inspiration as I walked through the cornfields, which is what usually happens. But this year, I regularly worked long days—one day was ten hours—and when I got home, all I wanted to do was sleep. And then my Animaniacs and Pinky and the Brain DVDs came, and, well… I spent every waking hour watching them!

So, yes, I'm sorry for such a long wait. Let's all hope I'll get better at updating this.

One more note—I finally thought of a better title for this! Because we don't know if Della's sincere, or a fraud… or she's just a sincere fraud… or a fraudulent sincerity… okay, I'm done now. Here's chapter four, I hope you enjoy!)

O.o.O

If there was only one thing Dewey had learned throughout his life, it was to never jump to conclusions. He had learned from all his life experiences that things often—in fact usually—weren't what they seemed at first.

Of course, in the case of Della, she seemed to be everything at once… which is why Dewey was struggling to keep his opinion of her neutral, at least for the time being. It was a bit of a struggle, although it shouldn't have been. To make up his mind one way or the other about her would, at this point in time, not make sense, as his mother was giving off vibes that seemed to be both genuine and fake. Acting, almost.

He simply didn't know her well enough to make up his mind yet.

Unfortunately, it seemed that both Huey and Louie already had made up their minds about her. Huey was glaring at her from above his rocky road ice cream cone, clearly not trusting her one bit. Louie, however, was sitting the closest to her, looking at her in a sense of wonderment.

The four ducks licked their ice cream cones awkwardly, none wanting to start off a conversation.

"So," Della finally said, breaking the silence. She looked at her sons, looking almost as bowled over as Louie. "I guess I knew that you would be all grown up by now, but it's still a shock seeing you with my own eyes… I hardly know you three. Tell me about yourselves."

Louie opened his beak to speak, but Huey cut him off before he had a chance to utter one syllable. "No, I think _you're _the one who should be telling us things, _Mom. _You're completely absent from the majority of our lives because you were a criminal, then suddenly you show up at our doorstep and expect us to welcome you with open arms. _You're _the one who has explaining to do."

"You're right, Dewey," said Della quietly, and Dewey was surprised, both at her instant agreement with Huey, and the fact that she called him "Dewey"—until he remembered that he and Huey had lied and said that they were each other. "First of all, I don't expect anyone to instantly take me to heart. Had this happened to me when I was your age, I would have been just as reluctant and cynical as you are—probably more."

"Then what are you doing here?" Huey demanded. "What do you want from us?"

"I just want to get to know you," said Della. "I spent eleven years of my life not knowing a thing about how my children were. You could have died and I wouldn't have known. I thought you were still with your uncle Donald—and apparently you've been with Uncle Scrooge for ten years! And there's nothing worse than…" Della's voice faltered.

"Than what?" Louie asked.

"Than not knowing where your children are," Della finished, her eyes downcast and her voice hushed.

Huey and Louie were unable to say anything to that, so Dewey spoke up for the first time. "Look, Mom, I'm not a parent, but I'm sure it must be terrible to be away from your children for so long… but if you're trying to get sympathy from us, I just can't… I mean, your separation from us was _your _doing. If you hadn't tried to rob that bank, you'd still have us."

Della nodded and took a small, defeated lick from her ice cream cone. "I know, I know. But that's what I need to talk to you about. You and Donald and Uncle Scrooge all seem to assume that I'm a hearless, crazy monster… but for God's sake, they don't know what my situation was. Well, they _knew, _but they didn't experience it for themselves. I had no money! I wasn't going to come crawling to my brother and uncle for help, even if I _had _thought they would have helped me! And you three were so small, so hungry…"

Della had to pause her story to wipe away tears and swallow the lump in her throat, and the triplets all exchanged glances—Huey's unbelieving, Dewey's cautious, and Louie's sympathetic.

"I understand, Mom…" said Louie.

"I don't," muttered Huey. "I think any sane person would ask relatives for help before charging into a bank with a gun and demanding all their money."

"It was a _knife," _sighed Della. "And you're right, it was a stupid thing to do. No, not stupid. Moronic. Imbecilic. My only excuse is that I was at the end of my rope, and I just couldn't think straight." She sighed. "Actually, back then I _never _thought straight."

"It's still idiotic," muttered Huey, "and I still don't—"

"But she did it for _us!" _cried Louie.

"That doesn't mean that what she did wasn't a crime, Louie!" cried Huey. "Stop letting your emotions muck up your judgment!"

"_Quiet, _both of you!" Dewey suddenly yelled. Huey and Louie, shocked at their brother's rare display of authority, instantly shut their beaks. Dewey turned to his mother. "Look, all of us are understandably pretty stressed right now. I think all of us—all _four _of us—need some quiet time alone to think about this. We're simply too flustered right now to make up our minds one way or the other," he added, shooting a dangerous look at Huey and Louie.

Della drew in a shaky breath. If she _was _merely putting on an act, she was doing a darn good job of it—she looked sorrowful, heartbroken, and absolutely defeated. "That's—that's—you always were a smart baby, Huey," she finally said.

It was Dewey's turn to sigh. "Look, Mom, I feel bad about lying to you… but Huey and I like to pretend we're each other sometimes, especially with people who don't know a thing about us… but it's probably time that you know who is really who…"

Della blinked. "You mean that you're actually Dewey, and you're—" she pointed at Huey—"Huey?"

"Aw, come on, Dewey," sighed Huey. "We could have kept that little charade up for a long time before she realized." He gave a half mischievous smile, the first time he had smiled since meeting his mother.

"Don't be mad at them," pleaded Louie, "they didn't mean any harm—"

"Oh, I'm not mad." Della too gave a half smile from behind her still sad eyes. "Heck, if I had a twin or triplet, I would do that all the time too, I'm sure. Are you all done with your ice cream?"

The triplets nodded.

"Alright. I'll walk you home."

O.o.O

That evening, Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby were again congregated in Huey's room, conferring about this newest chain of events.

"Louie, you're a fool," Huey said. "I can't believe you're falling for her act!"

"Why aren't you at least giving her a chance?" Louie demanded. "They wouldn't have let her out of jail unless they knew for sure that she'd reformed!"

"Uncle Scrooge doesn't trust her," Webby piped in.

"With good reason," muttered Huey. "She wants Uncle Scrooge to give her money, and she's trying to work on our sympathy so we can back her up."

"Both of you need to look at the facts—_all _of them." Dewey sounded annoyed. "You're both right, but you're both only focusing on the facts that help _your _side of the argument. Yes, Louie, if she's been let out of prison I think it's safe to assume that she's been changed. And yes, Huey, she's probably hoping that Uncle Scrooge will help her, and that we'll help her too."

"What do _you _think, Webby?" Huey abruptly asked.

Webby stammered, surprised that Huey was actually asking for her opinion. "Well, I don't know… she's not _my _mother, and I only saw her for just a few minutes."

"But she's _our _mother," said Louie, "and I think—"

"It doesn't matter if she's our mother, or our sister, or our fifth cousin nine times removed, or whatever!" cried Dewey. "The thing is, we don't know a thing about her. Do any of _you _remember living with her?"

"No," admitted Louie. "The last time we saw her was when we were three, and I don't remember anything that far back."

"Holy—you don't think—" Huey suddenly cried.

"We don't think _what?" _Dewey asked.

"We don't remember a thing about our mother!" cried Huey. "What if that _isn't _our mother? What if that's just some imposter who hopes to win custody of us by claiming that she's our mother, then taking all our inheritance?"

"That's a little far-fetched," said Webby dubiously.

"Besides, she looks like the picture of our mother in the photo album," pointed out Louie.

"Sorry, Huey, but your theory doesn't hold up. Uncle Scrooge would have known if she wasn't his niece, because he _does _remember her, very well, I think," said Dewey. "And he's not doubting that it's her."

"Crap," sighed Huey. "She really _is _our mother."

"Look, we don't have to come to any conclusions right now," said Dewey. "The fact of the matter is that we still know next to nothing about her. Maybe she _does _mean everything she says. Maybe she _is _just trying to get Uncle Scrooge's money. And maybe, although you close-minded ducks probably haven't considered this, but maybe she _does _want to change and be a good mother, but she's got a tough personality to get along with. I mean… Uncle Donald's done some pretty stupid things, and he has a terrible temper, but you agree with me when I say that he's genuinely a good person at heart, right?"

"Yes," Huey and Louie both said, nodding.

"Well, Mom's his sister," said Dewey. "Maybe she's just like Uncle Donald."

"I hope you're right, Dewey," said Huey, surprising his brothers with his half-admittance to possibly being wrong. "Because some of the theories I'm coming up with about her aren't quite so nice to her… or us."

"Only time will tell," said Dewey. "Which is why we shouldn't dwell on this anymore. Besides, I've got homework to do."

Dewey stood up and left the room, closing the door behind him.

"I doubt that he's right," said Huey with a sigh to Louie and Webby, "but I _really _hope that he is."

O.o.O

(AN: That's it for this chapter, please review and I'll see you at chapter five!)


	5. The Night Donald Went Crazy

(AN: Another long wait… who's surprised? Not me! I've been wanting to write more one-shots lately, so progress on my chapter fics may take even longer than usual. I'm not a quitter, however; I (usually) finish what I start. Unfortunately, my ideas for this story were, at their most realized, still very sketchy, and now I'm starting to have doubts as to the feasibility of writing them. So this story might be… uh… strange. Basically, I'll be making this up as I go. This chapter and the next few following are in my head, however, so it'll only be later chapters that might fizzle and die. :) Here's chapter five! Let's hope THIS one doesn't fizzle and die…)

O.o.O

The next day, Scrooge was in his office, at his desk, unable to concentrate.

His hiring Della had cemented in place what he had been fearing—he had grown soft. There was no question about it. Curse this old age! Della, with her youth and underhanded cunning, actually had the advantage over him. And she knew it far too well. His whole life's work was going to fall to pieces, because of that girl—

Wait. Scrooge mentally calmed himself down. That was probably a _slight _exaggeration. His whole world wasn't going to end just because he'd hired his former convict niece as a janitor. What was the worst she could do?

Scrooge's secretary buzzed in on his phone. "Mr. McDuck, there are policemen out here who would like to talk to you."

"You have GOT to be kidding me," moaned Scrooge to himself.

In a millisecond, Scrooge was out in the main lobby, shouting his lungs out.

"Alright, where is she? What did she do _this _time?" he hollered.

One of the policemen held up a silencing hand. "Whoa there, Mr. McDuck, who is this 'she'? We're here to discuss an incident that occurred last night."

"Last night?" repeated Scrooge, befuddled. Della had been at his house the entire time—at least, as far as he knew. Had she snuck out at two o'clock in the morning and—

"Can I tell the story, officer?" asked the other policeman, younger and more hyper than his supervisor.

The older one sighed. "Go ahead, Korwitz…"

Korwitz spread his arms out dramatically, as if about to begin an epic tale. "Dateline, Duckburg, eight o'clock last night! Location, The Dragon's Head restaurant, eight twenty-five L street! Incident, a disheartened and broken-hearted duck goes crazy, overturning tables and eating napkins! Cloth napkins, not the paper kind!"

"What on _Earth _are you talking about?" screamed a very irritated Scrooge.

"Let _me _handle this, Korwitz," said the other officer. "Mr. McDuck, is a Mr. Donald Duck your nephew?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well, last night, as Korwitz said, your nephew Mr. Duck suffered what is known in psychological circles as a severe psychological breakdown—"

"Or, in plain English, he went completely nutso!" added Korwitz.

"Would you let _me _explain?" snapped the other officer. "In short terms, Mr. McDuck, your nephew went absolutely crazy. By the time we police got to the scene, he had already overturned nearly every table in the joint, and had proceeded to make himself a sandwich out of napkins and hot sauce."

"Cloth napkins, not paper," clarified Korwitz. "Actual _cloth. _And he was actually eating it!"

Scrooge pressed his hands against his forehead in complete agitation and disbelief. _"Why _did he go crazy? Where is he _now? _And if this all happened last night _why _didn't I find out sooner?"

"Well," said the first officer, "when we were called in, we detained him in police custody for awhile. However, due to the fact that he was eating the napkin sandwiches and all, we thought it best to admit him to the psychiatric hospital, which is where he is now. Last night we had a psychiatrist examine him. He was incoherent, but what we managed to gather is that he proposed marriage to his girlfriend, and she turned him down."

"Turned him down?" laughed Korwitz, interrupting yet again. "She _slaughtered _him! Made him wish he'd never laid _eyes _on her!"

"Aye, and then what?" asked Scrooge wearily. Scrooge didn't know Daisy all that well, but he knew that, although it certainly wasn't out of her character to erupt in more explosive outbursts than even Donald, this was a bit much for even _her._

"Well, this morning he's a bit better," said the first officer, "but the psychiatrists at the psychiatric hospital think that he needs family companionship. Now, as you are his closest living relative…"

"FOR GOODNESS SAKE, I'M NOT MY ENTIRE FAMILY'S BABYSITTER!" bellowed Scrooge.

"Mr. McDuck, he needs care by people he knows and trusts! And in that case, that would be—"

"I know, I know!" cried Scrooge, nearly having a mental breakdown of his own. "He'll stay with me for awhile! How could this all be happening _at the same time?"_

First Della, then Webby dating, now Donald losing his marbles? Someone HAD to be playing a cruel trick on him. No question about it. They all would have been troubling had they all happened separately, but all at once?

"You'll need to retrieve him at your earliest convenience," said the first officer.

"Which would be now," sighed Scrooge, getting his heart rate back to normal.

As you may imagine, the presence of police officers and Scrooge's shouting had attracted the attention of many of his employees… including his newest janitor.

"Uncle Scrooge, what's going on?" Della asked.

"Your brother had a nervous breakdown and needs to stay with us for awhile," sighed Scrooge.

"Jeez, it's like a family reunion at your place!" said Della. "Don-Don, a nervous breakdown? Well, my heart goes out to my dear brother, but I can't say I'm surprised that someone like him finally cracked…"

"I won't be back the rest of the day," Scrooge hollered to all who would hear him as he gathered his belongings, preparing to retrieve his nephew. "But that doesn't mean any of the rest of you can take a day off!"

"But Uncle Scrooge, how will I get back to the mansion?" Della asked. "You're my ride!"

"Y'have legs! _Walk!" _With that Scrooge stormed out of the door, slamming it soundly behind him.

O.o.O

That evening, Scrooge, the triplets, Webby, and Della were all in the main living room with Donald, keeping a safe distance from him. He was now coherent (or, at least, as coherent as Donald Duck ever _could _be), but his mental lockdown had given way to complete and utter rage.

"So she turned you down!" said Della, trying to reason with her brother. "Obviously, that means that she doesn't like you that way, and so you've just saved yourself a lifetime of misery!"

"It's not like that!" screeched Donald. "She was _just _on my case about how we _weren't _married! So I gave her what she wanted! I FLIPPIN' GAVE HER WHAT SHE WANTED! And what does she do? She accuses me of being a yes-man, that I was only proposing to her to save face from her claim that I'm not committed! I don't UNDERSTAND her! That two-timing whore, I wish I'd never MET her!"

"She sounds like a jerk," said Della simply.

"You would know," growled Donald.

"Yes, I would," agreed Della. "And if I were you, I'd be happy that I was just spared from having to put up with that for the rest of my life."

"Just shut up, Dumbella!" cried Donald. "You don't know what she's like!"

"Maybe not, _Don-Don, _but from what I've heard of her she sounds like a jerk, a—what was it that you said? A two-timing whore? Yeah, I bet you care a _ton _for her. You must _really _love her!" snapped Della.

With a cry of rage that only Donald Duck could let loose, he tore across the room and tackled his sister, fists flying—and Della, being Della, was fighting back.

"Would you two KNOCK IT OFF AND ACT YOUR AGE?" hollered Scrooge, pulling Donald off of Della and holding him back. Donald struggled and was still shouting curses—well, what might be curses, in a state like this understanding just what Donald was saying was nearly impossible—but he knew better than to fight his uncle.

Huey, Dewey, and Louie had assumed the role of holding Della back from Donald. "Let me at him!" she cried, struggling against her sons. "He's not going to attack me and get away with it!"

"Keeping the two of you in the same house is more dangerous than sitting next to a lit bomb!" said Scrooge, glaring at his niece and nephew.

"He _attacked _me!" screeched Della. "I won't stand for that without a fight!"

"Listen, Dumbella, nobody insults Daisy but _me!" _shrieked Donald.

"_STOP CALLING ME DUMBELLA!"_ cried Della, flailing in rage. Dewey and Louie, who were both holding her left arm, nearly went flying.

"For the love of God, don't make me be your counselor!" cried Scrooge, pulling Donald away from Della. "Now I think the _both _of ye need to spend this entire night by yourselves, thinking this whole mess over!"

Both Della and Donald opened their beaks to speak, but the ring of the doorbell interrupted them.

"Curse me kilts, who on earth could _that _be?" cried Scrooge, clearly losing what little patience he had.

"That must be Shelby!" cried Webby, who had watched the entire thing huddled up in a presumably safe corner of the room. "I have a date with him tonight—uh, I'll be back by ten!" With that, the young girl dashed out of the room, obviously relieved to have an excuse to leave.

The remaining ducks heard the door close, and were silent for a few moments.

Finally Della asked, "I've been wondering, the entire time I've been here… who on _earth _is that girl, Uncle Scrooge?"

"That's Webbigail Vanderquack," said Scrooge. "She's the granddaughter of the boys' former nanny."

"She's kind of like our sister," added Louie.

"More like our cousin," Dewey clarified.

"You mean our personal pain in the rear," muttered Huey.

"Former nanny," said Della, her lips tightening. "Why is she still here then?"

"She has no living relatives besides her grandmother, and she's in a nursing home," said Scrooge, sighing wearily. "She's lived here nearly as long as the boys have."

Della continued to frown. "Odd… you resist having to take in your own niece and nephew, but you'll gladly care for some little girl completely unrelated to you."

"For goodness sake, Della, Webby's a child!" cried Scrooge. "You and Donald are adults! At least according to your birth certificates." He let go of Donald, and the triplets let go of their mother, following suit. The siblings were still shaking with anger, but had calmed down enough to be let loose.

"What now, Uncle Scrooge?" Huey whispered.

Scrooge continued to glare at Donald and Della. "Your staying here is a privilege, not a right," he finally said firmly. "I'm not going to be your dad, or your babysitter, or anything like that. You're—how old are you again, anyway?"

"Thirty-four," mumbled Della.

"Thirty-six," mumbled Donald.

"Could've fooled me," snapped Scrooge. "The boys and Webby are acting at least twice as mature as you two. If I have tae separate you two again, you're going straight back home, Donald—I don't care what the psychiatrist says. And Della, you'll be booted out here so fast that by the time you realize it you'll be halfway across Duckburg. Do ye understand me?"

"I'm going to be looking for a place of my own as soon as I can anyway," said Della resignedly.

"And I do want to go home as soon as possible," said Donald.

"But you won't fight anymore," said Dewey sternly. "Uncle Scrooge is right. You're acting like six-year-olds."

Donald and Della glared at each other for a moment before answering.

"I guess I'll just avoid you whenever possible," Della conceded.

"Hear, hear," agreed Donald.

"Now, to your rooms," commanded Scrooge.

The siblings meekly slunk out of the room, looking like punished puppies.

O.o.O

(AN: Well, I hope you gathered through that chapter that Donald and Della have plenty of deep-seeded conflict between them, which yes, I will continue exploring that point in later chapters. This chapter was more plot than character development, and plot's tougher for me than character development. Next chapter should have plenty of character development, especially for Donald and Scrooge, because let's face it, they've both got a lot on their plates right now. See you then, and thanks for sticking around despite my slowness of updating!)


	6. It's a Family Affair

(AN: Ugh. Getting this chapter out was a chore, I'll tell you that. You know how, the last time I updated, I updated my other story at the same time—AND published three different one-shots? Well, that totally sapped my energy and motivation to write. I'm only slowly getting it back. That's what I get for being productive, I guess…

Here's chapter six.)

O.o.O

The next day was a Saturday, and Dewey and Webby were lounging around in their uncle's library, working on their homework. The library was usually an ideal place for schoolwork, not only because of the multitude of books but also because of the quietness. Today, however, probably nearly every room in the mansion would have served that purpose. Della was out looking for a place of her own (or at least scoping out the market), and Louie had gone with her. Huey had left to go spend the day with his friends. Scrooge was at the office. As for Donald… well, wherever he was, he was being quiet.

Dewey glanced up from his algebra book. "Webby, how was your date last night?"

Webby looked up too, startled. "Huh? Oh. It was alright, I suppose."

"You suppose? You don't sound too sure."

"I don't know," said Webby, her voice growing a bit low. She picked up her pencil and turned back to her homework. "Shelby's just kind of boring, I guess."

Dewey laughed. "Boring? I thought you said he was smart, funny, handsome—"

"I never said he _wasn't _handsome," interrupted Webby. She smiled to herself as if confirming that her thoughts on his looks hadn't changed an iota. "But he was just really boring on our date. During the movie he hardly said a word, and when it was done, he just said, 'Alright, see you later.' Just like that." Webby sighed. "I'm not even sure if that was just a one-night thing, or if we're actually boyfriend and girlfriend now."

"Wow, he always seemed a bit more outgoing than what you're making him sound," commented Dewey.

"I know!" cried Webby. "At school he's always so friendly and funny! But on dates he just sits there cold as a stone. I don't understand."

"It could be a touch of first-date awkwardness that I've heard people get," shrugged Dewey. He smiled deviously. "Maybe he's got a crush on you."

Webby chewed on her eraser, pretending not to pay attention.

"You know, with the awkward silences and all," pressed Dewey.

Webby smoothed her head feathers down in a seemingly bored manner.

"Wouldn't you like that?" Dewey continued. "I mean, you've got a crush on him—"

"But I hardly know him!" cried Webby. "A crush, yes, but actual love—"

"I wasn't talking love, I just said a crush!"

Webby leaned down over her homework again. "Why do you even care?" she snapped.

"Huh?" asked Dewey, confused. "Why shouldn't I care?"

"Just butt out of my personal life," said Webby sharply. "You seem far too interested in the boys I like."

"Well, I'm your friend. Of course I care," said Dewey quietly.

Webby said nothing to that, focusing all her attention on her homework. Dewey, with a sigh, did likewise.

The young girl couldn't help but dwell over what Dewey had said. _Of course I care. _Funny how different Shelby and Dewey were from each other. Shelby was funny and outgoing normally, but in one-on-one situations he suddenly closed up like a clam. Dewey, on the other hand, often came across as cold and calculating, but deep down he had one of the biggest hearts Webby knew.

And he said he cared about her…

_No, _Webby thought furiously. _Don't even begin to think that. He's your COUSIN!_

_Well, he's not TECHNICALLY my cousin…_

_No! No! That's just sick and wrong! Besides, even if it weren't, I'm dating Shelby now!_

Webby turned the page in her science book, trying to focus on simple machines, but her eyes kept fluttering up to her cousin, who was immersed in his schoolwork, probably having nearly forgotten that Webby was there.

But she couldn't forget.

There was something appealing about a bookworm.

O.o.O

Down in the main living room, Donald was mulling over his own relationship problems.

"Why would I joke about something like this?" said a very irritated Donald into the phone receiver. "That's _exactly _what she told me!... You're telling _me _that it's unexpected. It's worse than that. It's—my gosh, you and Minnie have been dating at least as long as Daisy and me! And yet she… oh… congratulations on your engagement," Donald mumbled half-heartedly. "Look, Mickey, my uncle will tear me apart if I bring up his phone bill any more, so I'd probably better let you go… yeah, I will… thanks, Mickey. Bye."

With a defeated sigh, Donald hung up the phone and leaned back on the couch, wishing that his brain would just shut down for… a day. Yes, a day would be wonderful. Maybe by that time his anger and confusion over what Daisy had done to him would have subsided enough for him to get on with his life… his Daisy-free life, hopefully.

How would that work out? For all these years, Daisy had been a pleasant constant in his life, one that he appreciated and loved with all his heart. Contemplating a life without her was akin to imagining life with only one leg.

But still, Della had—for probably the first time in her life—perhaps been right. If Daisy turned on him so, he should be feeling lucky that he was rid of her.

But then again, what did Della know of Daisy? What did Della know about _anything?_ She had always been nothing more than a shallow, stuck-up jerk.

Well… no, she hadn't.

Donald made a "humph" sound as he sunk his face deeper into the pillow that he was leaning on. Daisy wasn't the only female on his mind at that moment, unfortunately. Della, like Daisy, was a woman with many sides to her personality. And Donald, having grown up with her, knew this all too well.

As children, they had been best friends. Well, of course they were! They were so close in age, and spent so much time together, it was only inevitable. The gender difference wasn't an issue to them; Donald would happily play dolls with Della, just as Della loved to play with Donald's toy cars. Donald had been the quintessential big brother to her. They fought, of course, but Donald was always proud of her, always protective.

How could he have been otherwise, the way he treated her during their middle school and high school days? Donald had never held back from telling her when she was doing something stupid—of course not, she was his _sister! _If your own sibling can't tell you that you're acting like an idiot, then who can?

But it didn't take long for her semi-idiotic things to turn into _really _idiotic things. And the more Donald told her, yelled at her, _screamed _at her that she was being the biggest moron on the planet, the angrier Della got with him. She didn't realize—and Donald didn't overtly realize it either—that he wouldn't have gotten so mad if he hadn't cared about her.

Unfortunately, as of late Donald's rage at his sister was so great he had all but forgotten _why _he hated her so much. He had all but forgotten that, once upon a time, Della was a fun, nice girl.

The phone rang. Donald flipped over and stared up at the ceiling.

Hmm… the phone rang. That was odd. Uncle Scrooge's home phone number was unlisted—only family members had it. And practically the entire family was already _here. _

Maybe it was one of the boys' friends. Yes, that would make sense.

Donald managed to crawl off of the couch and make his way to the atrium, where Duckworth was talking to whoever it was that was calling.

"Yes, sir. Good-bye." He hung up the phone.

"Who was that?" Donald asked.

"I am not quite sure, sir. He asked for your uncle. I told him that he was at his office, and the gentleman on the phone said he'd try calling there."

"That's odd… who else knows Uncle Scrooge's home phone number?" Donald wondered. "You're sure you don't know who it was?"

"No, sir. He had a German-esque accent."

Donald's eyes grew wide.

"_Uncle Ludwig?!"_

O.o.O

Scrooge found that, again, he was having trouble focusing. Work for today obviously wasn't going to get done.

He _still _didn't know what to make of Della. She was going out today, looking for an apartment… she seemed genuine… but really, who knew? Della was always a great actress—she knew how to get her way with anyone. Perhaps the change was genuine. Perhaps it wasn't.

Scrooge's main worries were actually focused around Louie. That boy was far too trusting. His attachment to his mother was, while at one level understandable, a bit alarming. Della certainly hadn't needed to pull many strings to gain his acceptance. But then again, that was Louie for you… he automatically assumed the best in everyone. Scrooge worried about him. Someday, someone was going to take advantage of his trusting nature—

BRING!

The ring of his phone made Scrooge nearly jump out of his chair. Of course, of course… being a financial tycoon left little time about worrying over your great-nephew's trusting nature. That would have to wait, for now.

He picked up the receiver. "McDuck here."

"Ach, good evening, Scrooge! Or I suppose dat it's still morning for you, isn't it?"

Scrooge nearly dropped the receiver. "Ludwig? I must say, it's been awhile since I've heard _your _voice, but what are y'doing calling me at the office?"

Scrooge's brother-in-law chuckled. "Vell, I certainly tried calling you at your house first!"

Despite his best efforts to the contrary, Scrooge was this close to exploding in irritation. "Don't you realize that this is a _business _number?"

"Of course!" said Ludwig, still sounding light-hearted. "But I figured dat by the time you'd be back at home, it'll be three AM here!"

Strangely, Scrooge's mind was putting together pieces of "clues" as it were. He hadn't spoken to Ludwig Von Drake for a couple of years. The last time they had spoken, Ludwig had been teaching psychology at a German college, and apparently he was still there, or at least somewhere in Europe, judging by the time zone difference that Ludwig was alluding to.

However curious Scrooge was to what Ludwig had been up to these past couple of years, however, did not overpower his aversion to idle chit-chat during work hours.

"Well, Ludwig, ye know that I am a _very _busy duck," said Scrooge sternly. "And I have nae time to be chatting when—"

"Ach, Scroogie, you vork yourself too hard!" interrupted Ludwig. "Dat's not good for your physical and mental well-being! Can't you take just a few minutes to tell me how life's been treating you since we last chatted?"

"It's been falling flat in me face!" cried Scrooge. "Della's out of jail and temporarily living with me—"

"Della? My goodness, I remember back ven she vas just a child and accidentally spilled my liquid phosphorous all over the—"

"That's not the point! She's a _criminal, _a _con, _and she's trying to get something out of me, I _know _she is! And tae make matters worse, Donald's just had a nervous breakdown—"

"Oh dear, dat _is _serious," said Ludwig, sounding concerned. "Vat brought about dis breakdown?"

Scrooge could literally feel a light bulb appear and light up above his head. After all, Ludwig was, among other things, a psychologist. Perhaps, with his added guidance, Donald would be cured—and thus out of Scrooge's house—faster.

"He proposed to his girlfriend and she turned him down," said Scrooge. "Completely unexpected, from what I gather from Donald. He had to be admitted temporarily to a mental hospital, but they decided that he needs to stay with family members."

"_Ja, _dat vould make sense," said Ludwig, sounding as if he were in deep thought. "If the rejection vas serious enough to warrant Donald being admitted to a hospital, den he'll need all the family reassurance he can get."

"And the sooner he gets better and out of me house, the better!" cried Scrooge. "Maybe you could help…"

Ludwig laughed. "Is dat an invitation?"

Scrooge suddenly balked. "Well… to come to Duckburg, yes, but ye're certainly not going to get free lodgings at my house like Della and Donald are now! Ye'll have to find a hotel somewhere!"

"Oh, goodness, I vouldn't vish to impose on you!" said Ludwig. "Even if I did expect you to open your house to me, I vould certainly pay you room and board."

"Good, because—" Scrooge suddenly stopped. "Ye'd _pay _me?"

"Of course."

"Weeeeeeeelllllllllllllllll…" Scrooge said, almost to himself, "perhaps I _could _get a room prepared for you in my mansion…"

Ludwig laughed to himself again. _"Wunderbar, _it's been far too long since I've visited Duckburg! It'll be nice to come back! I'll hopefully get a flight in on Monday! See you den!"

As Scrooge hung up the phone, he realized just how full his house was going to be—the triplets, Webby, Della, Donald, and now Ludwig… Della had been right when she said that it was a family reunion at his place!

"I cannae _believe_ what I'm doing…"

O.o.O

(AN: Hoor-freakin'-ray. Ludwig Von Drake is _finally _in my story! He's my favorite Disney duck. Heck, he's my favorite Disney _character. _Ludwig kicks donkey, don't deny it.

However, on the subject of Ludwig—and Scrooge—I know that I can't really type accents, so please forgive me. Or try to. Actually, just typing dialogue for Scrooge is a chore for me anyways. I'm not sure if I've really got a grip on his personality. I wish I had more comic books to study.

Anyhoo, as usual, reviews make me happy, and chapter seven will be up… eventually. ;)


	7. Say Uncle

Huey was not above lying to his uncle. Sure, he avoided it when at all possible… and in truth, Scrooge would have probably accepted his _true _reason for staying out a full hour past his nine-thirty curfew. The more time he spent with his friends, the _less _time he was forced to spend with his mooching mother.

What a phony. If she _really _wanted what was best for her children, she'd leave them alone! Huey huffed to himself as he, as quietly as he could, creaked open the back door to his uncle's mansion. Couldn't his mother see that he and his brothers had a perfect life—a life that happened to _not _include her? He didn't need a mother—especially not one like her. He had everything he needed as it was.

A blast of angry yells nearly knocked Huey off his feet as soon as he was inside.

"Uncle Scrooge, I am _not _crazy! Why did you DO this?"

"What are you talking about, Don-Don, you've been crazy your whole life!"

"You're not helping, Della! And Donald, as much as I'd _like _to see y'cured and out of here, you're still too unstable tae—"

"_Unstable? _I'll show you _unstable! WAAAAAAAAAAAAK!"_

Huey winced as he heard Donald slip yet again into his characteristic outburst of rage, although he couldn't help but chuckle inwardly to himself that Donald couldn't have picked two worse ducks to blow up at. Although Della hadn't been there long, Huey could already tell she had her brother's (and her uncle's, and apparently her mother's) temper. And attempting to fight with Scrooge was just suicide. Donald should have known better.

Sure enough, Donald was quickly subdued by his uncle and sister. "Let me _go!" _he squawked, yelling other things after that, but by this time Donald had become incomprehensible.

Huey began creeping towards the staircase. Unfortunately, to get to the staircase, he would have to cross through the room that Scrooge, Donald, and Della were in.

…Of course, they were so caught up in their argument that, hopefully, they wouldn't even notice him sneak by!

Hopefully.

As Huey crept closer to the room, Donald became somewhat comprehensible again. "I'm tired of people telling me I'm crazy! I'm _not! _I don't need a psychiatrist—especially not _him!"_

"What's wrong with him, now?" Scrooge asked angrily. "Unlike any other psychiatrist, he won't cost us a thing—in fact, he's going to be _paying _me room and board. Which is more than what can be said for you two right now!"

"But he makes me feel… uncomfortable! You know, because he's—"

"Because he's outgoing and talkative and in-your-face?" Della butted in.

"Yes, of course," growled Donald. "The exact same qualities of you that I hate."

"What? You hate Uncle Ludwig? How can you say that—even _I _like him! Then again, I haven't seen him since I was just a little girl—"

"_YOU'RE NOT HELPING, DUMBELLA!" _Donald shrieked. "I know you don't _want _to help, but you might want to keep in mind that _I'm only about this close to strangling you!"_

"Strangle me? Not if I get to you first!" growled Della, lunging for her brother.

Scrooge grabbed Della just in the nick of time. "That's enough, Della! Ye're only making things _worse! _Now get out!"

"What?"

"Y'heard me. _Get out!"_

"Don't order me around, unk! I'm not a child!"

"Then stop acting like one! It seems all y'want tae do is rile Donald up even more than he already has been! And I won't stand for it—so get out!"

"Fine, I can take a—Huey?" Della stared at her son, who was caught like a deer in the headlights. "Where have you been?"

"Well," he said, as calmly as possible, "I was just—"

"Huey!" interrupted Scrooge, growing red with rage. "Do y'know what time it is?"

"Time for you to get a watch," Huey mumbled before he could stop himself.

"I happen tae own forty-six watches," Scrooge growled.

"Then don't _ask _me what time it is," snapped Huey. "I actually _do _realize that it's an hour past my curfew. I'm not an idiot. I thought that, if I stayed out late enough, I'd avoid any squabbles that you three would have, although I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?"

Della took on her peeved mother look, which looked completely out-of-place on her. "That's still no excuse to be out past—"

"Pardon me, lassie," snapped Scrooge, interrupting his niece. "Ye're certainly not one to dispense discipline—"

"But I'm his—"

"I don't care if ye're his mother! The point is, ye're _not _his legal guardian! As for you, Huey, until further noticed, ye're _grounded!"_

"That's the worst punishment ever," said Huey. "Having to spend my free time with _her." _He jerked a thumb at his mother.

Della growled, but bit her tongue.

"If we're lucky, your mother won't be here much longer," said Scrooge. "And I mean that for her sake as well as yours. Are ye any closer tae finding an apartment, Della?"

"I've been looking," said Della, "but so far there's nothing open in my price range."

"Ye'll find something soon enough, I'm sure. And then, Huey, ye'll be spending your grounding in solitude, with only me, your uncle Donald, and your uncle Ludwig," said Scrooge.

"Uncle Ludwig?" asked Huey, surprised. "Why is he coming here?"

"Because your uncle Donald is crazy and needs a shrink," muttered Della.

"_You _need a shrink," Donald and Huey snapped in unison.

"That's enough," said Scrooge sternly. "Huey, to your room. You too, Della. As for you, Donald—"

"I'm going to bed," muttered Donald. "You guys have given me a headache."

"Aye, me too," moaned Scrooge. "I need an aspirin."

"And a stiff drink," muttered Della.

Huey rolled his eyes at the adults. "You see why I stayed out late, Uncle Scrooge? If I had been here, I'd have a headache too."

O.o.O

The following Monday, as soon as the boys and Webby were at school, Scrooge, Donald, and Della headed to the airport to pick up Ludwig Von Drake. Scrooge hadn't wanted to take either one of the squabbling siblings, but he knew better than to leave them at the mansion by themselves.

The car was bad enough.

"Stop kicking my seat!" cried Donald, glaring behind him. Scrooge had put Donald in the front passenger seat next to Duckworth, and Della next to himself in the backseat so he could keep an eye on her and keep any fights to a minimum. Nothing doing.

"I am _not _kicking your seat, Don-Don!" cried Della indignantly. "I haven't done that kind of thing since I was seven years old!"

"Well, how old are you now, six? 'Cuz you're still doing it!"

"Am not, you prick!"

"Dirty whore!"

"Pompous jackass!"

"Ignorant slut!"

"_That's enough!" _cried Scrooge, trying to hide how appalled he was at the insults the siblings were tossing back and forth. "Who taught you tae say those kinds of things?"

"Mom," Donald and Della replied in unison.

"Aye, and if only she could see the fruits of her labor," sighed Scrooge, completely exasperated.

"We're at the airport, sir," announced Duckworth. Under his breath, he murmured, "Thank the Lord…"

"Park the car in the short-time parking lot, Duckworth," said Scrooge, getting out of the car. Donald and Della followed suit, shooting glares at each other in the process. "This shouldnae take long."

As soon as Duckworth had driven away, Scrooge grabbed Della and Donald roughly by the shoulders. "Don't make me have tae act like your parent," he growled. "Is it too much to ask that you two behave like civilized adults?"

Donald opened his mouth, undoubtedly with a sharp retort ready on his tongue, but Della beat him to the punch.

"No," she said softly. "I'm sorry, Uncle Scrooge."

Both Scrooge and Donald jerked back a bit from shock at Della's surprising one hundred-eighty degree turn in demeanor. "And I'm sorry, Donald," she continued, "for calling you… those things… even if you _are," _she muttered under her breath.

"I was about to return the apology until you said that," growled Donald.

"Maybe it's best if neither of ye talked for the time being," said Scrooge.

O.o.O

Donald had not meant his previous statement that he disliked his uncle Ludwig. Actually, the truth was, the professor's eternal curiosity, cheerfulness, and nuttiness was somewhat endearing.

But in large doses, he _did _find his uncle to be _highly _annoying.

"Ach, Donald, it's been far too long! How have you been? Vell, I must say, you certainly don't _look _as if you've had a nervous breakdown, but dose nasty breakdowns come in all shapes and sizes, you know! Metaphorically speaking!"

"Ludwig, this probably isn't the time tae—"

"_Scroogie! _My goodness, it's been ages since I've seen you in flesh and feathers! Ach, my verk at the university keeps me avay for too long!"

Scrooge shrugged at that. "Well, things happen—"

Ludwig cut him off yet again. "And is dat Della? It can't be! She should still be just a little duckling—she can't be dat old!"

Della let an unguarded smile flicker on her beak. "How could I still be a duckling and have children, Uncle Ludwig?"

"Dat's true," laughed Ludwig. Donald couldn't help but smile a bit as well. Ludwig's merriment was rather infectious. "You've really matured into a fine woman, Della!" Ludwig continued, hugging Della.

Scrooge and Donald both suddenly started coughing, Donald making "yeah right" comments through the coughs.

Seeing Ludwig's confusion, Della forced out a small, weak chuckle. "Well, I wouldn't exactly say I'm all that mature…"

"Maybe ye could give them _both _therapy," said Scrooge hopefully. Both Donald and Della humphed indignantly, all smiles gone.

"Vell, I'll see vat I can do," said Ludwig thoughtfully. "But first—to the baggage claim! I've got some things for both of you, plus your triplets, Della—how old are dey now, anyway? Eight?"

"Fourteen, actually."

"Ach, no, now you _must _be joking!"

"Heck, I can't believe it either…"

Watching Ludwig lead Donald and Della off to the baggage claim, Scrooge gulped to himself. The siblings seemed to both be a bit more civil and friendly around their European uncle, but still, with all these crazy relatives in the mansion, making the triplets and Webby subject to all of their discrepancies…

"I hope I'm doing the right thing," he murmured to himself.

O.o.O

(AN: Oh, wow. How many ways can I apologize for how long it took me to update this? My excuses, in a nutshell, can be narrowed down to a combination of "I didn't have time" and "my mind has wandered off to other things". Since the time I last updated this, I wrote an entire, ten chapter Powerpuff Girls story, and started two more one-shots and another chaptered story (none of these being finished or posted, and I don't know when or if they ever will be), and just last week I got hit with the idea for a Looney Tunes fanfic that won't leave me alone. I can't pin my muse down. Lousy excuse, I know.

That said, I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I don't know how I could be no matter how I wrote it, so this'll do for now. The next chapter should be more interesting, depending on where I decide to take it from here. Advice from you all—NEVER post a story that you don't know how it's going to end. It's just… not a good idea.

Chapter six has also been slightly edited, but only to make Scrooge and Ludwig's accents more consistent with how they're written in this chapter. No actual plot points or dialogue were changed.

Sorry for the wait, sorry this long-awaited chapter is so lackluster, and see you chapter eight, whenever the heck that will come.)


	8. Everything's Wrong

"This is pointless, you know," said Della firmly. "I'm not going to tell you anything, especially with _him _here. And I know him well enough to know that he won't tell you anything with _me _here."

"Dat's da root of your problem right dere!" said Ludwig. Both Della and Donald, sitting on the couch opposite their uncle, gave him questioning glances. "Your behavior towards each ot'er is infantile at best, and downright hostile at vurst! Dis isn't the vay you vere when I last saw you, Della. And Donald, you're usually a _little _nicer to ot'ers! I remember back ven you two vere only yay-high, and you got along vonderfully! Vell… you fought a _little, _but dat's to be expected, you're siblings!"

"Uncle Ludwig," snapped Donald, "while I'm sure this is all psychologically interesting, this isn't what we supposedly need therapy for. My girlfriend dumped me, and Della… well, she's just a skank."

"Oh, is it lunchtime already?" mused Della. "You seem really hungry for a knuckle sandwich, Don-Don."

"Dose are just surface problems," said Ludwig. "Donald, your significant ot'er turns you down and den you just decide to start eating napkin sandwiches? Your uncle told me vat happened, and a nervous breakdown like dat takes _years _to build up. I t'ink dat da both of you have problems relating to ot'ers."

"I do not," huffed Della.

"Do you even _have _any friends?" Donald demanded.

"I…" Della stammered. "You don't… I mean…" Her face suddenly became softer. "You never really understood, did you? You were Mom's favorite."

"Of course I was! I was the one who wasn't the delinquent!"

"No, I mean even before that, even before Dad died. Mom always liked you best. I don't know why," she muttered, "but she did. That's why I was so close to Dad, you know…"

"Dad would hate you now," hissed Donald.

"He'd hate _you," _snapped Della.

Donald made a lunging motion towards his sister, but Della threw up her arms and caught him in air before he could make any further movements. "Don't act like you're not trying to gain his approval. You're pathetic, Donald! He's been dead nearly thirty years and you're still ass-kissing your way through the Navy, so good ol' Dad will like you as much as he liked me! I was Dad's favorite," she growled, "and you were Mom's, but then it was _Dad _who had to die."

"Are you saying you wished that _Mom _died instead of Dad?!" cried Donald, aghast.

"_No! _I wish they were _both _still alive and then maybe we'd be happy and not here yelling at each other… and maybe I'd actually have a job that I didn't need to accept from my own _uncle _and be living in my _own _house and be able to raise my children without _anyone _questioning my abilities, because they wouldn't _need _to!"

"Shut up," growled Donald.

"No, don't!" cried Ludwig. Both Donald and Della jerked their heads at him in surprise. They had nearly forgotten he was there. "Keep going! Dis is just the kind of information I vas hoping for!"

"And what exactly are you deducing from all this, Professor Von Drake?" asked Della in a mocking tone.

"Vell, to put it simply, you both have daddy issues."

Della and Donald stared at each other. _"Daddy issues?" _they both asked in disbelief.

"Uncle Ludwig," said Donald, looking back at him, "you can't possibly get me to believe that my reaction to being dumped by my girlfriend has anything to do with my father, who, as Della rightfully points out, has been dead for nearly thirty years!"

"Your father vas in the Navy, and died in da line of duty," said Ludwig matter-of-factly. "From dere on out, Donald, you've vanted to redeem yourself, and make up for vat I am assuming the lack of attention he gave you as opposed to your sister. You have problem vith your self-esteem!"

"Phooey! I do not!" huffed Donald.

"You sought out your girlfriend's approval as vell, and ven you did not receive it…" Ludwig chuckled. "Vell, I suppose ve don't have to go over dat again."

"Why you… that can't… I mean…" Donald suddenly grabbed the pillow at his elbow and forcefully threw it to the ground, causing Della to jump in shock. "Who cares _why _it happened? Because I don't! I just want to get back to my life and get over her and feel like _myself _again!"

Ludwig's smile was gone. "Donald, dese t'ings take time…"

Donald froze, his face slowly easing away from its angry scowl. Well, nuts on that. He had accidentally opened a wound that his mother had always warned him about whenever they'd visit their eccentric uncle Ludwig. "Whatever you do," Hortense had always warned to her two children, "don't mention your aunt Matilda to him."

"Why not?" Della had asked the first time.

"If it weren't for Aunt Matilda, he wouldn't be related to us at all!" Donald had pointed out.

"I know that, and he knows that," Hortense had said, sighing. "But he never speaks of her. In fact, I haven't heard him even mention her since her funeral, and that was years before you two were even born."

"Why doesn't he talk about her?" Della had asked.

"It's this old-fashioned way of thinking… many men in years past, when their wives died, never spoke of them again, out of respect, or perhaps because it was still too painful for them. Do you realize how many autobiographies are out there where the author never once mentions his wife, even if he had children?"

"Phooey, that's silly," Donald had said, with a dismissive wave of his arm. "That can't make handling it any easier."

"Maybe it does for some people," Hortense had said. "Maybe this is the best way for your uncle to deal with it. So respect that, and never, ever bring up your aunt Matilda in his presence, understand?"

Donald hadn't understood. Even now, years later, it made no sense. That first lecture from his mother had been before his father had died, and while Hortense hadn't clammed up from completely mentioning her husband after that, it _was _rare for her to speak of him without prompting from others.

But how could that help? If you lose someone you love, and never speak of them again, that doesn't make your time with them disappear.

…But the again, what _can _you do in a situation like that? No matter how you handle it, it doesn't change the fact that that person is dead.

Or, in Donald's case, gone.

Gone. He was single again. Maybe… maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all! True, he still loved Daisy, but what was the point of clinging on to that when she clearly did not want him? Yes, that was the ticket! Exchange his love of Daisy for love of someone else!

It was time to go on a blind date.

"I think I know what I have to do, Uncle Ludwig!" he said, his eyes brightening. "I know _exactly _what I have to do!"

"Good, good!" exclaimed Ludwig. "Vat is it?"

"I've got to find the newspapers and read the personal ads!"

Both Ludwig and Della stared at him.

"Well, it seems to _me _you got over her," Della finally muttered cynically.

"How can I get over her if I just mope around here all day? I've got to _replace _her! Find someone even better! Then I'll feel like myself again!"

"Donald," said Ludwig, with calculated logic, "I'm afraid you might be rushing into t'ings a bit…"

Donald snapped again.

"This is the perfect pace for _me!" _he shouted, glaring at his uncle. "You have your coping method, and I have mine! Let's see who finds another girl _first!" _And with that, he stormed out of the room.

"That _bastard!" _growled Della as soon as Donald was out of earshot. "Don't you worry, Uncle Ludwig, I'll kick his ass—"

"Dat's da kind of behavior ve're trying to correct in _you," _said Ludwig. He looked a bit taken aback from Donald's outburst, but seemed to be trying to make light of the situation.

"That kind of behavior is what makes me _me," _snapped Della. "You can't correct the core of my personality! He insulted you, and I—"

"Honorable intentions!" Ludwig interrupted with a laugh. "But you of course realize dat you've insulted him far more than he's insulted me, even in the short time I've been here. And your uncle Scrooge says you've been at each other long before I arrived."

Della glared at the door, each second lessening the likelihood of her charging after her brother.

"You're right, Uncle Ludwig… I _do _need to change… but I don't know how," she admitted, her face falling.

"Don't know how? You've already started!"

"How do you mean?"

"It's a cliché, but t'ings become cliché for a reason, you know: admitting you have a problem is da first step! And da first step is always the toughest!"

Duckworth suddenly appeared at the doorway. "Telephone, Miss Della."

"Oh… hang on…" Della grabbed the phone that was in the parlor that she and Ludwig were currently inhabiting. "Hello?… Yes… yes… Really? You mean it?… Oh my—thank you! Thank you so much!… A week? Yes, I'll be there. Thanks again, thank you very much! Alright! Good-bye!"

She hung up the phone, her face radiating joy. "I don't believe it!"

"Vat vas all dat about?" asked Ludwig.

"I've got a job—I'll be stocking groceries at a local supermarket… I've got a job!"

Ludwig looked confused. "I t'ought your uncle said you vere verking for him."

"Yes, but I need two jobs," said Della. "This one has flexible hours and I can still work for Uncle Scrooge for awhile. Hopefully not for too much longer… the pay is good," she quickly clarified, "but I don't approve of nepotism. I'm not going to work for my uncle for the rest of my life. I told him I wasn't going to accept his charity, and once I can—even just barely—make it without him, then I will!"

Ludwig smiled and put his hands on Della's shoulders. "My dear, you're going to be just fine."

Della blushed. "Thank you, Uncle."

O.o.O

But two evenings later, the house still did not seem "just fine"… at least not to Huey.

"What am I going tae do with you?" sighed Scrooge, looking more tired than angry. Huey shuffled his feet, but kept his gaze even. Being angry would be rather pointless right now, wouldn't it? He had lost count of how many letters from the principal he had brought to his uncle.

"Really, _why? _Why do you keep bringing these t'me? I've nigh about given up trying to understand you, Huey!"

"I keep bringing them because the principal keeps writing them up," said Huey, keeping his voice level. "Maybe you should go talk to him and ask him to stop. It's getting old for me, too."

"Huey, just how many of these blasted notes have ye brought me this year?"

"I don't know, okay? I'm sorry I'm disruptive! I'm sorry I can't be like Dewey and Louie! But school bores me, and—"

"Y'never _used _tae be like this," said Scrooge wearily.

"Of course not," said Huey, almost apologetically. "I've grown up."

"You're becoming just like…" Scrooge stopped himself.

"What?" demanded Huey. "Just like who? Just like _Mom?"_

"_Aye!" _Scrooge suddenly shouted. "Ye're just like your mother! She got into just as much trouble as you when she was your age! And do ye want to end up like _her?"_

"Hell no!" cried Huey. "And I'm not like her! I said I was sorry! What more do you want from me?"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry—you've said you were sorry the last five times, but y'never _do_ anything aboot it!"

"No one ever gives me the _chance _to change!" shrieked Huey. "You wouldn't have it any other way, though, would you? Louie's the nice one and Dewey's the genius, and Webby, hell, I don't know, she's just your pretty little pet—but you've got to have _someone _to blow your top at! And all I'm saying is, I'm tired of always being the one who gets the short end of the stick around here!"

And without giving his uncle a second to explode in—justifiable—rage, Huey turned and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

O.o.O

Huey stormed down the hallway, fuming at himself. Well wasn't this all just _peachy? _Uncle Scrooge was right—he _was _just like his mother! Whining about his treatment and how no one would give him a chance—entitlement complex much?

But he was justified, at least a little. Huey really didn't have an adult with which to confide. When he was younger, there had been plenty—Uncle Scrooge, for one, but also Launchpad McQuack, Gyro Gearloose, and Mrs. Beakley. But now, all but Uncle Scrooge were gone—Launchpad had moved to St. Canard, and there were rumors he was working for SHUSH; Gyro had taken a research job way off in Tokyo; Mrs. Beakley was in the nursing home. They had been playmates and sources of inspiration to Huey as a child, but now he was on his own.

Well, Scrooge was still there, of course. And Huey, of course, still admired his uncle greatly and held him in high regard, but as he had grown up, and school just became dull to him… well, all those pranks had just been to lighten things up! He never really meant any harm by them! He was merely brightening everyone's dull existence! Uncle Scrooge hadn't seen things his way, though. Soon he regarded Huey a bit differently from the way he treated the other children, with an air of mistrust. It was like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Becoming more and more estranged from his uncle, Huey became more and more troublesome.

He was simply adjusting to his role, that's all. No one else fought theirs, why should he fight his?

Because his sucked, that's why! And now, ironically, even with all the extra family members in the house, Huey felt even more isolated than usual. Louie had Della. Not that Huey thought of her as an ideal confident, but that hardly mattered—Louie did, and Louie was devoted to her. And now Dewey had Ludwig. His knowledge-hungry brother had immediately seen in Ludwig a like mind, and the two had bonded instantly. And Webby had had Scrooge all along.

Where did that leave Huey, then? With Donald? They had a lot in common, but Donald had simply been in no mind to converse with since he had first come. And he wasn't even here right now anyway—in his hare-brained attempt to forget about Daisy, he was on a date at that very moment.

So no, it was Huey all alone, Huey left to sort things out for himself, just Huey—

—and Webby.

Huey had by this time stormed his way into the sitting room, where Webby was curled up in an armchair, reading a book. She looked up and gulped—it would have taken an idiot to not deduce that Huey was riled. "Huey? What's wrong?"

The question had been asked out of concern, but it did nothing to soothe Huey—in fact, it only angered him even more. "What's wrong? _What's wrong? _How can you ask that? You've never known _wrong _in your life! _You're _what's wrong!"

"I don't understand," she said fearfully.

"Of course you don't. Nobody does. I'm the odd duck out here—always have been, always will be!"

"Huey?"

"Oh, just shut up, will you? You can do no wrong! I bet you could be sent to the principal's office twice as many times as I have and Uncle Scrooge still wouldn't be mad at you! He doesn't even care that you're _dating _before you've reached puberty!"

"Huey, _what's wrong?"_

"I said, _SHUT UP!"_

Huey lunged at Webby—

—and that was precisely that moment that Della walked in.

"Huey, what are you _doing?" _she demanded, yanking Huey away mere seconds before he could hit his surrogate cousin.

"Mom," Huey said, his face still red with fury but his eyes pleading, "you understand better than anyone else in this household what I'm going through. Everyone automatically assumes the worst in me!"

"Can you blame them?" said Della. "You're just like me—losing your temper at the drop of a hat! Why do you think no one in this household trusts _me? _You've inherited my temper, Huey, and trust me, if you don't work on keeping it under wraps, then—"

"What about Uncle Donald?" demanded Huey. "He's just like us too, and yet he isn't questioned for everything he does! He goes totally berserk in public and yet we all welcome him here with open wings! And _she—" _he pointed an accusing finger at Webby—"can just sit there and blink, and everyone instantly adores her!"

"I haven't done anything wrong," whispered Webby.

"Some people are just lucky that way," said Della coldly. "They're lucky that they can just live in whatever house they want to."

"I haven't done anything wrong," Webby repeated, looking at her hands, as if assuring herself rather than Della and Huey.

"What's going on in here?" cried a new voice. As you can probably imagine, with all the shouting, the other members of the household were unable to ignore the hot-headed mother and son. Scrooge, Ludwig, Dewey, and Louie were all standing in the doorway.

"I haven't done anything wrong!" cried Webby, her voice growing in hysteria. "Tell them, Dewey! Tell them I haven't done anything wrong!"

"You haven't done anything wrong—and _that's _what's wrong!" shouted Huey.

"Huey, knock it off!" snapped Della.

"Whose side are you on?" cried Huey.

"Side? I'm here to pick sides? Who to pick? The little porcelain doll who blinks and says 'mama', or the cocky bastard with an entitlement complex?"

"Did you just call me a _bastard?"_

"Well, you _are _one!"

"And whose fault is that? Oh, wait a minute, I believe that's _YOUR _fault, _MOTHER!"_

"Make them stop!" screamed Webby, jumping off the chair and running to—

—Dewey?

She threw herself in his arms, sobbing, and everyone, even Della and Huey, stared.

"Webby, why are you hugging him like…" Huey started.

"Like he's your _boyfriend?"_ Louie finished.

"I'm inquiring the same thing," said Dewey uncomfortably.

"I haven't done anything wrong!" Webby wailed. "Tell them, Dewey! Tell them, Uncle Scrooge! I haven't done anything wrong!"

"No one in this house would give you a second chance if you had!" shouted Huey. "Isn't that right, Mom? Isn't that right, Uncle Scrooge?"

"What is everyone's _problem?" _Della demanded. "You couldn't all just suddenly lose your marbles just because I arrived! It's like you said, Uncle Ludwig, there's been problems for years with you people! What's going _on _here, Uncle Scrooge?"

"But you were the catalyst that pushed everyone over the edge!" cried Huey. "Right, Uncle Scrooge?"

"Leave Mom alone!" cried Louie. "What did you want her to do—just ignore her family? What would _you _have done, Uncle Scrooge?"

"Would everyone just calm down?" shouted Dewey. "How can any of us think with all this drama? Uncle Scrooge, get everyone in line!"

"Uncle Scrooge!"

"Uncle Scrooge!"

"Uncle Scrooge!"

"…Uncle Scrooge?" This was Webby.

For Scrooge hadn't said a word during any of this… what's more, it looked like he _couldn't. _"I'm _not…" _he gasped out between wheezing breaths, "your referee…" His hands clutched his heart and he stumbled forward.

Now it was Ludwig's turn to take action.

"Dewey, call an ambulance!" he shouted. "Huey, open a vindow, Louie, loosen his collar, and girls, help me move him to the vindow to get him some air!"

The ducks, in a state of shock, still somehow managed to stumble to their assigned tasks. "Oh no, oh no, oh no…" Della murmured, shaking her head in horror.

"Stay vith us, Scroogie… don't lose consciousness…" Ludwig pleaded.

"Professor Von Drake, is he going to _die?" _wailed Webby.

"Not if we administer proper treatment while ve vait for the ambulance to arrive. Plus," said Ludwig with a shaky smile in an attempt to reassure the terrified girl, "I don't t'ink your uncle is planning on expiring just yet. Right, Scroogie?"

Scrooge was still having great difficulty breathing, but he managed to choke out, "Not… on… your… life!"

"Oh my God, Donald!" Della suddenly shrieked. "He doesn't know! We have to find Donald!"

"Do you know vere he is?"

"Yes—he said he was at Francois's restaurant downtown—"

"Den go! Da children and I can handle dis until da paramedics get here."

Della rushed out of the room, trying to ignore the look she had seen in Ludwig's eyes. He had spoken optimistically to Scrooge and Webby, but Della had seen his doubt. And that worried look had made her blood run cold.

O.o.O

"So tell me about yourself, Danielle."

Donald's date, a pretty duck about five or seven years younger than he, smiled. "There's not too much to tell about myself… I'm a newspaper editor, I live on the edge of town—"

"Really, an editor?" asked Donald. "Have I seen your name in print before?"

"I doubt it," laughed Danielle. "I don't actually write stories or anything, I just make sure they all fit their columns."

"That sounds…" Donald let it hang, not wanting to say the word "boring".

"It's a very important job," said Danielle firmly, almost reading his mind.

"I'm sure it is!" Donald said quickly. "If you couldn't read the newspaper because the stories are all jumbled, then there would be no point to having it at all! So what are your hobbies?"

Danielle didn't hear Donald. In fact, she hadn't even looking at him, ever since she had heard a female's voice at the front of the restaurant ask, breathlessly, "Is Donald Duck here?"

"Did you hear me?" Donald demanded.

"What? Oh, sorry, no I didn't… I think there's someone looking for you."

"What?"

Danielle pointed behind Donald, and Donald spun around to see his worst nightmare come running towards him. "Donald—"

"Della?! What the _hell _are you doing here?" Donald exploded. "Why do you always have to ruin _every _aspect of my life?"

"Donald, you have to come home right away! Uncle—"

"I'm staying right here! You are _not _ruining my date!"

"You don't understand! This is _important!"_

"_This _is important! Don't talk to _me _about importance!"

To be fair, Della had, up until this point, been handling this crisis rather maturely, which is more than what could be said for Donald. However, she had just as short a fuse as his, and Donald had just struck her snapping point.

"_Would you just shut the hell up and listen to me, you prick?!"_

This, in turn, was snapping point number two for Donald.

"_**I'LL KILL YOU!" **_he roared, grabbing the knife—only a butter knife, thank God—and lunging towards Della. Della quickly grabbed his arm and bent it backwards, stopping the attack—but not to be undone, she forcibly kicked Donald in the stomach.

"_Bastard!" _she shouted.

"_Bitch!"_

As you can probably imagine, this barbaric display had attracted the attention of every single patron in the restaurant…

…even the ones who were only just entering.

"_Donald Duck!"_

Donald dropped the knife upon hearing the familiar voice and spun his head around. _"Daisy!" _he gasped.

The whole restaurant was filled with an eerie silence.

"You… you're _impossible," _Daisy finally hissed. "Thought you'd go for two girls at once, huh? Kill one tonight and keep the other one around until you blow your top again? I guess I should be glad I got out of this while I was still alive, huh?"

"No, that's not—She's my _sister!" _Donald spluttered, pointing at Della, who was sprawled on the floor, completely frozen from shock.

"Sister, aunt, fifth-grade music teacher, I don't _care! _Whoever she is, better her than me!" Daisy turned on her heal and marched out the door.

"Wait, Daisy! _I need you!" _Donald blurted out.

Danielle, the innocent bystander for all of this, shakily stood to her feet. "You know, Donald, let's just end this now before things get even crazier. You can have your… 'sister'." She headed for the door as well, at first slowly, but she was running by the time she reached it and barged her way out.

Donald, gasping for breath, glared at Della. "Look what you've done… you've ruined _everything!" _he growled.

Della stared at Donald, her eyes wide and filling with tears. "Donald, Uncle Scrooge just had a heart attack!"

"_What?"_

"_That's _what I came here to tell you," she said, her voice breaking.

Donald stuttered, his eyes growing as wide as Della's. "Are you serious?"

"I've never been more serious in my life!" Della choked out, burying her face in her hands.

And it was at that moment when the police barged in, a pair of handcuffs for Donald and a pair for Della.

O.o.O

(AN: Well, guess what I _finally _bought. That's right, I finally own The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck! And look what it did—it revived my inspiration for this story. I thought that my inspiration for this particular tale was permanently dead, but jeez, look how long this chapter is! And I finally got to the climax… took me long enough.

Although, in all honesty, the inspiration couldn't have come at a worse time. I've got a job this summer with twelve-hour work days. Yeah, I'm insane, but it pays good. Anyway, I really doubt that I'll be wanting to write much during my free time. You never know—my inspiration is nothing short of unpredictable—but don't be counting on updates until mid-August at the very earliest. Although I _will _try to write as much as my body will allow me. I mean, the ideas keep coming, and I know where I want to take this story now! Hallelujah!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you come chapter nine, whenever time and inspiration work hand in hand and let me get it posted!)


	9. Bailed Out

_Oh no, please no._

_Not again!_

_I SWORE I'd never be behind bars again!_

_IT'S NOT MY FAULT!..._

_Well… maybe it IS my fault… a little bit._

_Who am I kidding?! It's COMPLETELY my fault! Uncle Scrooge was right to distrust me! Huey was right about me all along! Uncle Ludwig was wrong—Louie was wrong—I can't change. I try, but I can't. I'm stuck in a cycle. All I do is mess things up. Now Uncle Scrooge could be dead for all I know, I've landed my brother—who is a decent guy, albeit a bit temperamental—in jail, which is going to haunt his record for the rest of his life—and what about my life? My God, I bet I've lost that second job I've found! –Who cares about ME, I deserve this and more! But what I've done to my family… I'm a wretch…_

Della Duck listlessly threw a pebble at the jail bars. It made a hollow clinking sound. Della only blinked, too slowly, as if she were only blinking because some sort of reaction was expected from her.

She had blown it. Again.

Oh, she had been so close. So close to an acceptance that she had earned, fairly, not a grudging tolerance that everyone seemed to have for her now, kept only because she was family. She knew all about her Uncle Scrooge's legendary rags-to-riches tale, and if _he _could make a better life for himself, then she _certainly _could make amends for her own wrong-doings!

So close. But, as usual, her temper got in the way at the last and most inopportune minute.

_Maybe… maybe I shouldn't have come back to them._

When she had been let out on parole, all her mind had been set on was seeing her sons again. And giving her family hell about it. They had obviously been keeping the triplets away from her—their own _mother!—_probably to "protect" them. What a sack of baloney. Della had been infuriated at, first Donald, and then Scrooge when she realized that he had, long ago and unbeknownst to her, become their guardian. So infuriated, in fact, that she couldn't see straight to sit down and realize that her brother and uncle had _very _good reasons for keeping the boys away from her.

She was a bad influence.

_And as their mother, I completely understand the desire to have them grow up to be the best people they can be. _Della bit her lip. _To not make the same mistakes I did. They probably ARE better off without me._

She loved them. They were her babies, her own, that she had refused to give up. She had always loved them—first because they were something from herself that no one else could lay claim to, but as they grew out of babyhood and into toddlerhood, she began to love them as individuals too, not simply as three little pieces of herself. She marveled at how each had his own unique personality, how they interacted with each other, how similar yet different they were.

_Donald and Uncle Scrooge must have had a blast, raising them. I wish I could have been there…_

But Dewey had been right—the only reason she _hadn't _been there for her sons was through her own wrongdoings.

_I think now I finally realize, _she thought to herself, still staring listlessly at the wall. She had finished crying hours ago. _And if I ever get out of here, I'm going to put my past—and Duckburg—behind me. I won't cause my family any more suffering!_

_God, what if I KILLED Uncle Scrooge?_

Della's stomach lurched.

_How will I LIVE with myself?_

She stood up weakly and made her way to the bars of her cell, peering down the hallway to where her brother was confined. For obvious reasons, the decision had been made to keep Donald and Della as far away from each other as possible. Although she could see the cell that he was in, she couldn't see _him._

She opened her beak to call out to him, but her throat dried up and her lips cracked and all that came out was an inaudible squeak.

_He doesn't want to talk to me anyway, _she reminded herself. She hadn't heard anything from him that whole night they had been in jail. As he hadn't heard anything from her. Della guessed she had maybe gotten an hour of sleep total, thanks to her shock and horror at remembering how pale her uncle Scrooge had become, her mental kicking at herself for being an idiot yet again, and the lumpiness of the mattress. As usual, it was like sleeping on a gravel road. She had been used to prison beds, but after sleeping in one of the cloud-like beds in her uncle's mansion, her back had very quickly become spoiled.

A door opened, and keys jingled. The warden approached Della's cell and unlocked the door.

"Time for breakfast already?" Della asked, astounded. Time may have been inching at an agonizingly slow pace throughout the night for her, but it still seemed like there was no way it could be eight o'clock already.

"Not quite. You've been bailed out."

"I… I've _what?"_

"Your uncle had the bail money. A professor Von Drake."

"But…"

"The total bail for you and your brother combined wasn't very high," said the warden. "It's not like you hurt anyone, not even each other. Besides, the way the professor said it, both of you have anger management issues and probably were just pushed to the breaking point last night."

"That's putting it lightly…"

The warden motioned Della out of her cell. She obeyed, but slowly, as if stepping into freedom disgusted her.

"You're lucky to have such a generous and understanding uncle," the warden said, giving Della a chastising look. "If _my _niece and nephew were brawling in a restaurant, I'd let 'em sit in jail for a few days and let them think their lives over."

"I've have plenty of time to think this entire night, thank you!" Della huffed.

"Doesn't sound like it's sunk in…"

"It _has! _Maybe I should just go back into that cell! I deserve it!"

"You don't have to be a _martyr, _Dumbella."

Donald Duck shot Della an icy glare from behind his own prison bars as the warden unlocked them. "You're playing the 'I've-reformed-game' again. What makes you think anyone's going to believe you _this _time?"

"Nothing," said Della simply.

Donald looked surprised for an instant, but he quickly covered it with a "Phooey!" and a scowl.

Ludwig Von Drake was waiting for the siblings in the lobby area. He probably would have looked stern and upset if it weren't for the circles under his eyes that clearly indicated that he had gotten probably even less sleep than Della.

"Thanks for bailing us out—" Donald began.

"How's Uncle Scrooge? Is he alright?" Della interrupted.

"Della, Della, don't you vorry! Your uncle's going to be just fine. He regained consciousness about an hour ago and immediately started yelling to see all his employees and make it clear to dem dat just 'cause he's going to be in the hospital for a few days doesn't mean dat his business operations are going to shut down too!"

"Sounds like he's back to his old self, alright," said Donald.

"I didn't tell him about vat happened to you two last night," said Ludwig, giving both siblings a stern glare. "He's got enough on his mind as it is. Really, you two should be very, very ashamed of yourselves!"

"I _am!" _both Donald and Della said profusely, in unison.

Ludwig kept his glare for only a moment before softening it into a relieved smile. "Vell, da both of you sounded like you actually _meant _it dis time!"

Della smiled. Saying what you actually meant without having to lie was a wonderful, uplifting feeling.

O.o.O

"What happened to the stock market while I was oot cold?"

"Mr. McDuck, you were only out for a few hours, during the night! Usually you _sleep _longer than that!" cried Graham Warmfeldt, Scrooge's stockbroker.

"Has news of my health affected the cash flow?"

"Mr. McDuck, it's not even office hours! Most of the business world probably doesn't even _know _yet about your heart attack!" cried Fenton Crackshell, Scrooge's accountant.

"Have you altered the menu to include heart-healthy items?"

"Mr. McDuck, I've always strived for healthy foods! Really, if you don't calm down, you're going to have another heart attack!" cried Louisa Pearworthy, the head chef of the cafeteria in Scrooge's money bin that served food for him and his employees.

Scrooge sighed, sinking back into the hospital bed. "Aye, I suppose you're right…" He closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Opening them to find his worried employees still gathered around his bed, he shouted, "What d'you think you're still doing here?! Just because _I'm _laying down on the job doesn't mean _you _get to! I'm not paying you to stand around! Now get back to work, or you're FIRED!"

The three almost knocked each other over in their rush for the door.

Scrooge laid back again, sighing in contentment. Despite the fact that he had just been rushed to the ER, his family seemed to be more dysfunctional than those wonderful specimens one saw on daytime TV talk shows, and the wallpaper in this room was a rather disgusting yellow color, at least he had such hard working employees, who were so devoted to him… well, either devoted to him, or the paycheck he gave them.

There was a light knocking at the door, and his nurse poked her head in. "Mr. McDuck, your nephews and niece are here to see you again."

Scrooge sighed. "Very well, let them in…" He had been drifting in and out of consciousness when he had first been frantically wheeled in, he managed to stay focused long enough to yell at his family, who were anxiously gathered around and generally getting in the way, "Y'aren't helping matters by just standing around and doing nothing but blocking the doctors' way!" He hadn't seen them since.

The nurse withdrew, and in a moment Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby filed in, all looking downcast.

"Aye, lads, what do you want?" he said, strangely not feeling angry at them.

Dewey nudged Huey, who took a step ahead and spoke.

"Uncle Scrooge, we've all talked it over, and… we're all really sorry for what happened. We all kind of ganged up on you, and… no one could really take that, and… we're sorry. Especially me. I was the one who started it."

"It's good tae see you taking responsibility for a change, Huey," said Scrooge.

"It's not all his fault, though," Dewey quickly threw in. "It was all of us who were badgering you."

"It's really no surprise what ended up happening to you," said Louie regretfully.

"We're sorry." This was Webby, her voice muted and melancholy.

Scrooge gave the children a mock disapproving glare. "Normally I wouldn't have any reason tae believe you…"

"You've just had a near death experience!" cried Huey. "That's enough to get us to change!"

"I was _never _near death! I'll never go out in such a conventional, ordinary way as a heart attack, and you can bet on that! However… you all _look _sincere." He smiled. "So I forgive you."

"Thanks, Uncle Scrooge!" the four children said, making their way over to his hospital beds, their arms outstretched as if intending a hug.

"…as long as _you _pay the hospital bill, seeing ye're so willing to take responsibility."

The children recoiled.

"I've spent all my allowance money at the movies!" cried Webby.

Dewey cocked an eyebrow. "Isn't your _insurance _going to pay for this, Uncle Scrooge?"

Scrooge chuckled. "Ye're a bright lad, Dewey."

"So what, are we going to paying your insurance premiums now?" asked Huey, with an amused smile.

"Not a bad idea!" said Scrooge, brightening. "I can see that living with me for all these years has had a positive effect on you!"

"Nice going, Huey," muttered Dewey.

"Oh, it won't be that bad," said Louie cheerfully. "Splitting the payment between the four of us shouldn't be that difficult."

"Except that Uncle Scrooge is a senior citizen, and he's a public figure and more likely to be in an accident or attack, and he has the highest income of any duck in the world," said Dewey, counting on his fingers. "Do you realize how must his insurance payments must _be?"_

"Oh, they're pocket change," said Scrooge. "I own my own medical facilities, you know."

"Oh." The four children looked relieved.

Scrooge's expression changed to one of inquiry. "Say, where are Donald and Della, anyway?"

The triplets paled. "Uh, well…"

"They're with Professor Von Drake," Webby said quickly.

"And where is Professor Von Drake?" asked Scrooge, his expression of inquiry hardening into stern questioning.

"Right here, Scroogie!" called out Ludwig's familiar voice, stepping into the room, Donald and Della right behind him. The triplets and Webby looked positively grateful at his welcome entrance.

"Oh." Scrooge blinked at them. "Where have you three been?"

"We've—" Della began, but Ludwig flung a hand over her beak before she could continue.

"Dey've had a very stressful few days, and ven you had your heart attack, it upset dem both very much, you know!" he said quickly.

"Uh, yeah, sure, we'll go with that!" said Donald.

Della pulled Ludwig's hand off her beak as gently as she could. "Are you alright, Uncle Scrooge?"

"Well, I'll live, if that's what you're asking!"

"I'm asking if you're alright! You're back-talking me, though, so you must be." She grinned, although it was a shaky one.

"That's not the deciding factor," said Donald. "We'll know he's back to his old self when he—"

"Oh, and Donald, before I forget," interrupted Scrooge, "I had business to attend to in Prague, but seeing as these doctors won't let me go for at least another day, you'll have to go pick up some priceless artifacts for me—I'll pay you ten dollars, and _don't you dare break anything!"_

"_Now _I know he's alright," said Donald.

O.o.O

(AN: This update came a little bit later than what I had originally said, and for that I apologize. I also apologize that this chapter didn't have much happening, but seeing as the last chapter was basically the climax of the story, that's to be expected, huh? We did finally get to see into Della's mind, at least. Anyway, there'll probably be only one chapter left, although maybe two—who knows? I think I've milked this story for what it's worth, though. Time for some resolution. :)

As usual, thanks for reading, and I'd appreciate any and all reviews!)


	10. Learning and Forgiving

"_Guten morgen, Scroogie!"_

Ludwig Von Drake cheerfully breezed into Scrooge's hospital room, a stack of mail in his hands. Scrooge, sitting cross-armed and stern on his bed, harrumphed.

"The only good morning I'll have will be the morning when they let me oot of here!" he growled.

Ludwig chuckled. "You've only been here two days!"

"Two days too many," Scrooge mumbled. "What've ye brought me today?"

"Oh, just a few things," said Ludwig, sitting down in a chair and filing through the stack of mail. "Dere's your 'Billionaires Bi-Annually' magazine, junk mail—you may already have vun 23,000!—more soliciting junk mail, junk mail, bills—"

"Are y'trying tae give me another heart attack?!" Scrooge cried.

"Ach, sorry!" Ludwig handed the stack of mail to Scrooge, who took it begrudgingly. "You'll be happy to know dat I have good news, too!"

"I doubt it," said Scrooge gloomily. "Like I just said, the only thing that'll make me happy is hearing—"

"—dat you've been let outta here, I know!" Ludwig finished. "And dat's da good news! Da doctors vere saying ven I first came in dat dey t'ink you're about vell enough to go home!"

"Ye're not pulling my leg, are you?" Scrooge asked suspiciously.

"Vell, da general consensus seemed to be dat vith how much you're complaining here, you'd probably be better off at home anyvay! Or, in your case, your money bin. Ha ha!"

"_Definitely _the money bin," moaned Scrooge. "The last thing I want tae do is walk back into that disaster waiting to happen at the mansion! My family is about the _last—"_

"Ach, but hold it right dere!" Ludwig interrupted.

"Ye've fallen into a bad habit of interrupting me," grumbled Scrooge.

"And _you'll _be happy to know dat Donald is progressing marvelously in his therapy, Huey 'aced', as da young people call it, a pop quiz in school yesterday, Vebby is no longer dating and seems to be treating Dewey normally, Louie… vell, he's still Louie…"

"What about Della?" Scrooge asked, unconvinced.

Ludwig smiled softly. "She… left."

"_Left?"_

"Yes—she took her t'ings and just left! All she said vas dat she didn't want to impose on you or da boys anymore, so she vas going to find a homeless shelter and start over."

"Blow me bagpipes," Scrooge murmured to himself. "She finally _has _grown up."

"Yes, she showed remarkable progress in a short amount of time! But, you know…" Ludwig gave Scrooge a knowing smile. "Someone ought to tell her dat growing up doesn't necessarily mean having to leave your family behind."

Scrooge folded his arms and tried his best to look agitated. "Stop trying tae play the 'family sympathy' card on me!"

"Vy not? It's verking!" chuckled Ludwig.

Scrooge's face softened. It was no secret that he championed fighting one's way through life, to earn one's life on one's own terms, by being "tougher than the toughies and smarter than the smarties". And yet… for the longest time, even after becoming the richest duck in the world… something was still… _missing._

By the time he realized it was family, he had precious little family left.

"What do you expect me tae do about it?" Scrooge suddenly demanded harshly. "She's got tae make decisions for herself!"

"Oh, _yes!" _said Ludwig, sounding strangely sarcastic. "Because _all _da most important decisions in life are made wit' no help from anyone vatsoever! I don't even know _vy _presidents and prime ministers and all dose verld leaders have so many advisors, since obviously dey're making all dose important decisions on dere own—"

"Alright, alright!" cried Scrooge. "I'll think about it! After all," he added, quietly, "she _is _family… and despite how much she frustrates me, I _do _care about her… I just want her tae take care of herself for once!"

"And she is," reminded Ludwig. "Now all _you _have to do is give her your support! She t'inks you can't stand her, you know!"

"Completely unfounded, I'm sure," said Scrooge, in a mock-serious tone.

He and Ludwig kept their locked mock-serious stares for about two seconds before both bursting into laughter.

"Come on, now," Ludwig said, still laughing, "you've learned how to put up vith Donald, Della can't be any more difficult!"

O.o.O

Donald, in fact, seemed to be taking a page from his sister's book at that very moment, folding clothes and placing them in a suitcase in a semi-orderly fashion.

"Can't wait to get out of here, huh?"

"Wak!" Donald jerked back in surprise, upsetting his suitcase. His clothing fell scattered on the floor.

Huey, the intruder, chuckled apologetically. "Sorry 'bout that, Unk."

"For your information," Donald growled testily, "Uncle Ludwig said that I'm making a lot of progress in my therapy, and while I enjoy your company, I'm just getting ready for when I get to go back home and… start to put my life back together."

"You sound like Mom," said Huey. "Or, at least, what she allegedly said."

Donald sighed, not overlooking Huey's slightly miffed tone. Della had left that morning without saying good-bye to anyone but Ludwig—and she probably wouldn't have said anything to him either if he hadn't caught her in the act of leaving. "Would it surprise you to know that I think your mom leaving was one of the most mature things she's ever done?"

Huey laughed. "Come on, Uncle Donald, what do _you _know about maturity?"

"Plenty!" cried Donald, offended.

"Calm down, I was just joking," said Huey quickly. "And no, it doesn't surprise me… I agree, really." He sat down on the bed and looked out the window thoughtfully. "I guess if I was in her situation, I would have done the same thing. And I really don't know why it bothers me so much that she's gone…"

Donald smiled too, and sat down next to his nephew. "It's because she's your mother."

Huey stared at Donald with an "are-you-kidding-me?" look. "What does that have to do with how I feel about her?"

"A lot," said Donald. "My mother drove me crazy, but I always knew that she only acted the way she did was because she loved your mom and me. And it doesn't seem right to not return your mother's affection, after all she's done for you."

"My mother's done nothing for me," muttered Huey.

"Your mother went to _jail _for you," said Donald.

Huey blinked in shock, and Donald laughed. "Never thought of it that way, did you?"

"That still doesn't excuse her actions!" cried Huey.

"Excuse, no. Explain, yes." Donald chuckled again at Huey's continued shocked expression. "Don't get me wrong, I think she was a moron for what she did. But… I can understand why she did it. I'd do the same thing for my children, if I had any. I'd do the same thing for _you _boys."

Huey couldn't say anything to that. Donald hugged him in a more than friendly but not overly sappy manner befitting an uncle and his teenaged nephew. "Sometimes people just can't help being moronic."

"Spoken from experience, I'm sure," said Huey playfully, returning the hug.

"What good is experience if you don't learn from it?" Donald slid off the bed and began to gather his clothes. "Now are you going to help me put all this back? Seeing as it's your fault it's all on the floor in the first place?"

"Ahem, Mr. Duck." Duckworth was standing in the doorway. "You have a visitor at the front door."

"Better yet, you can put it back yourself!" cried Donald, following Duckworth out of the room.

Huey rolled his eyes. "I wonder what it would be like to have _normal _relatives…"

O.o.O

It was only during the walk to the front door that Donald began to wonder just _who _his visitor was—after all, he had few friends, and the ones he did have probably didn't know he was at his uncle's house. So he quickened his pace, jutting out ahead of Duckworth—only to freeze in his tracks when he saw who was waiting for him.

Daisy shuffled her feet, a bit apologetically. "Hello, Donald."

"What… what do _you _want?" Donald said, only afterwards realizing that she might not be there to chew him out… although _now _she probably would, thanks to the tone he had just taken with her.

She scowled a bit, but only for a moment. "I want to apologize for lashing out at you. I read the paper about your uncle's heart attack, and… I realize that you must have been under a lot of stress. I shouldn't have made it worse for you. So… I'm sorry."

Donald's joints stiffened in agitation—now _there's _a dilly of a problem—let her believe a more flattering lie, or admit to her the real, ugly truth?

He finally sighed in resignation, his conscience having won that particular battle. "Daisy, as convenient as it would be to let you believe that was the reason for my actions, the truth is I didn't know about my uncle's heart attack until _after _you left. Actually, as it turns out, it wasn't even until after I attacked my sister."

"You attacked your sister?" cried Daisy, aghast.

"I couldn't help it!" cried Donald. "I was angry at her! She ruined my chances with Danielle—she ruined my chances with _you!"_

"If you were so concerned with winning me back, why did you decide to date the first broad you met?" Daisy demanded, right in Donald's face.

"Phooey, there's nothing wrong with me going on a date, now that I'm single! And I'm only single because _you _made it that way!"

"Well, I certainly didn't start playing the field so soon after we broke up!"

"Of course you didn't! I didn't see a personal ad from _you _in the paper, and cousin Gladstone's been married for more than four years now!"

"Why you _insolent _little—"

Daisy flung her arms at out Donald, but Donald was quicker than her, grabbing her and holding her in a deadlock. The two struggled against each other for a few moments, neither willing to budge.

But suddenly, Daisy let out a small laugh. "You know, I really missed fighting with you like this."

Donald's shock only lasted for a second before he smiled, despite himself. "Yeah, fighting with my sister just wasn't the same. For one thing, it was way more violent…"

"You know if we stay together, the fighting won't stop," said Daisy softly.

"Yeah, I know," Donald replied. "But I… I've gotten used to that from you. I _like _that about you."

"I'm glad you feel the same way," smiled Daisy.

Their deadlocks on each other's arms had become a hug without either of them realizing it.

"And I'm also sorry for not realizing it sooner," said Daisy, whispering the words into Donald's neck. "So I was wondering… would you marry me? If you think you can put up with me arguing with you over every miniscule detail of the wedding, and of how we raise our kids, and over finances, and—"

Donald interrupted her with a kiss.

Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby, who were watching from the next room, gave a loud cheer, but the lovebirds were so enraptured with each other that they didn't notice.

"Didja guys hear what Daisy said?" said Dewey excitedly. "We might be getting cousins in the next few years!"

"I hope they don't expect us to babysit them," moaned Huey.

Webby made a face. "Jeez, your uncle and his girlfriend are crazy! If this is what romance is like, I'm glad I got out of the dating scene while I still could!"

Louie sighed dreamily. "Isn't it great?"

O.o.O

Della hadn't even been in the homeless shelter an entire day and she was already sick—_homesick._

Well, okay, so Uncle Scrooge's mansion technically wasn't home. Really, she didn't even _have _a home. Hence the homeless shelter! It made perfect sense. And yet, even though she knew she was—for maybe the first time in her life—doing the right thing, her body still ached with sadness. She missed her boys. She missed Uncle Ludwig. She missed Uncle Scrooge. Heck, she even missed Donald.

But who said her absence from them had to be permanent? She could always see them again once she got a job and place of her own. That shouldn't be too hard… right? She only had… you know, eleven years of jail time, plus the recent night of jail thanks to her public fight with her brother… along with no job above a janitorial position…

Oh, who was she _fooling?_

She flipped through the help wanted ads, trying to not get her hopes up. Maybe someone would be willing to hire her when they learned that she'd be doing volunteer work while at the homeless shelter. Yeah, that might work out! They might realize that she's trying to turn her life around.

"Why are ye looking for a job when y've got a perfectly good one at my money bin?"

Della dropped the paper and spun around in surprise. "Uncle Scrooge! What—what are you doing here? Shouldn't you still be at the hospital?"

Scrooge laughed. "The doctors thought it would be in the best interests of _everyone's _health tae let me go."

"Look, I don't know what you're doing here, but I'm sick of living with you like a child, so no matter what you say, I'm _not _coming back to live in your mansion—"

"Good!" said Scrooge. "You know how I hate freeloaders."

"Then what are you doing here?"

Scrooge motioned towards the couch. "Sit down. I need tae talk with you."

Uncle and niece positioned themselves on the couch, Della with stiff formality and uncertainness. "Ye haven't lost your job," Scrooge said right after sitting down, getting right to the point. "As if I would let a hard worker like you leave so quickly!"

"But I was in _jail _for a night!" Della blurted out, before remembering that Uncle Ludwig had instructed her to not mention that little detail to Uncle Scrooge.

But Scrooge was unaffected. "I know that. I read the public record in the newspaper every day, you know—crime and accidents affect the economy! So you were in jail for a night. And I was in the hospital for two days. But life goes on."

"But I've screwed up," Della insisted. "I've screwed everything up, and I don't deserve that job."

Scrooge snorted. "Della, if making mistakes means that you don't deserve even a miniscule chance at success, then I should be dead by now, and not the world's richest duck. We _all _make mistakes, lassie… and I've probably made more mistakes than anyone I know. Mistakes don't define who we are as a person. It's what we choose tae learn from them that counts." He smiled at her, a genuine smile. "I've misjudged you, lass. Y've really grown up. Y're finally willing tae take responsibility for your actions."

Della stared at him in amazement. "You mean you've… forgiven me?"

"Yes…" Scrooge hesitated. "But don't think that means that I'll tolerate you reverting tae your old self!" His face softened into a smile. "I joost don't want you making the same mistakes I did. Family is important, Della. Don't go abandoning them when they aren't even upset at you."

"But you said you hate freeloaders!"

"Della, there's a huge difference between supporting yourself and completely isolating yourself! I realized this almost too late in life—don't you be taking as long as I did tae figure it oot!"

Della slowly smiled. "Don't worry, Uncle Scrooge… I think I'm learning."

She hugged him, and his return hug reassured her that she had indeed gotten what she wanted, what she wanted but didn't deserve, what she was determined to not screw up this time…

Another chance.

THE END

O.o.O

AN:

Well, to risk sounding like a broken record, I'm sorry again for how long it took for me to finish this! I got the whole story finished in less than two years, though, so that has to count for something, right? (Actually, I think it's a new record for me, and it's only gonna get worse, because my attention span has of late dwindled down to next to—hey, look over there! (runs off))

Thank you all for reading this! I'll admit it's hard for me to write stories with happy endings… I've turned myself into an angst-bucket and just don't know how to deal with them, making my more upbeat stories like this one (yes, this is one of my more upbeat stories) increasingly difficult to write. To everyone who read and/or reviewed, again, thank you very much! I only hope you all got something from this story, if only enjoyment, and I hope I was able to learn from it as well.

So thanks bunches, and remember, "Life is like a hurricane…"

-Commander


End file.
